Money and Martyrdom
by bed of nails and sandpaper
Summary: Yamato left Japan, hoping for a new life in America. But, after five years of living without a family he decides to come home, not realising that the problems he left behind have been waiting for him. AU Taito, Takari and other pairings
1. Chapter 1

**Money and Martydom**

* * *

His father wasn't necessarily late, considering his work ended at six and it had just turned seven o'clock. But because Yamato hadn't seen nor heard from his father since Monday and it was now Friday, he deemed it acceptable to be a little bit worried about him. He couldn't do anything to contact him though. Neither of them could afford a cell phone and it was obvious that the man would leave the office at the earliest opportunity. Even so, instead of making desperate calls to try and find him, Yamato still insisted that if his father eventually decided to come home he would want something to eat. So he cooked up what little they could afford; miso soup. It would hardly pass for a main dish, being practically just salted water, but it was better than nothing.

Hearing a rattle of clumsy footsteps being dragged up the apartment block stairs he turned down the heat of the stove and turned to the front door. When he heard the jingling of keys being dropped several times and being clumsily jammed into the lock, he counted down on his fingers.

"Three, two, one."

It was precisely on the mark that his father threw open the door and completely collapsed onto the dusty wooden floor of the hallway, in an almost comatose state. The stench of alcohol that had been stained into his clothes overpowered the moist aroma of food. Sighing to himself, Yamato realised that his father had probably drunk more than they could afford.

"Do you want some soup, Dad?"

The only answer that he received was an incoherent grunt from the man who rolled over to lie on his back. So, with a sour face and a punch to the table as he walked by, he decided that he would do the honour of dragging his father to his royal quarters. He felt his arms almost pop out of their sockets under the strain of hauling the adult into a standing position. The man pathetically had the dry remains of vomit on his shoes and a newly printed layer of dust caked on the back of his work jacket.

"Please don't puke on me. I'm begging you, please, dear God, don't puke on me."

He mumbled to his father as he felt him shake within his arms. Carefully he withstood the hassle of making his way around the apartment, trying desperately not to break anything. There were filthy mugs and glasses precariously placed around the living area, old CD cases that had been crushed underfoot, a full ashtray lay on the floor just waiting to be knocked over. The place was a mess, and strewn with unintentional traps to turn the place into even more of a mess. But, with luck and patience, Yamato finally made it into his father's bedroom. He threw him haplessly on the bed and watched as the man pathetically crawled towards his pillow to lay his drunken head upon it. The man hadn't taken off his shoes or anything, and he just went straight to sleep.

Picking up whatever rubbish he could Yamato went back to the kitchen to serve himself dinner.

'Well at least I get double helpings' he thought to himself as he sat at the table to eat his steaming broth. He reluctantly fiddled with it, taking a spoonful and lifting it to his mouth only to stop and pour it back into the flower printed bowl. It was supposed to smell delicious, considering he hadn't eaten since the day before, but for some reason the flavoured steam only made him feel sick. He closed his eyes and quickly pushed the spoon into his mouth, only to find that instead of a satisfying feeling of being fed he felt a spring in his throat push the mouthful back up and choked after finding it unbearable to swallow. His throat burned from the warm liquid and he deducted that he definitely wasn't hungry any more. So he abandoned his efforts and hoped that he might be coaxed to eat with something more appetizing. The soup was poured down the sink, leaving bits of steamed vegetables, and the bowl was left in the sink to be washed later on.

Looking towards the digital clock on the oven Yamato jumped to see that it was almost seven thirty. He had only twenty minutes to get to his first job at the café down town. Rushing into his room and jumping over furniture he wriggled into his plain black uniform and looped the car keys around his finger. His room was only a little bit dirtier than the rest of the house but he preferred it to be that way. The litter is what supposedly gave it "character".

"Bye Dad! I'll be back later!

He called as he slammed the apartment door shut. He skipped three stairs at a time down towards the block parking lot where his baby sat, waiting for him. His car looked like a diamond among a pile of coal from its position in the dingy parking lot. His gorgeous Jaguar XJ220 was a machine from the heavens with a glossy blue coat that made it glow in the dreary Japanese street lights. It had taken him since he was practically a child to save up for it and he had to cut back on a lot of luxuries, but it was so definitely worth it. Just stepping into the drivers seat was like stepping upon Nirvana. The leather still had that fresh, new scent and the seat was adjusted perfectly for him to sink into. It was unintentional when he took that moment to savour it, but he instantly snapped back into gear and started the mighty engine. It roared like the battle cry of Mars when revved, but once on the open road, hummed delicately like the smooth love song of Venus.

* * *

He came to a perfect stop in front of the café as though that parking space had been reserved especially for him, and when he get out the car he spotted the silhouette of Daisuke lingering by the door. He was more Taichi's friend than his own, but Daisuke kept popping up for a chat here and there and 'dropping in' while he was at work. His burgundy locks were barely style, and he still wore the goggles that Taichi had given him as a congratulatory gift after a good soccer game.

"Hey, Yamato. A bit late for your shift isn't it?"

Yamato locked the car and jogged up to the door as he spoke to Daisuke.

"Yeah, I know. It's just another late mark in my book. I still wonder why I haven't been fired yet."

"It's because you make a damn good cup of coffee."

He gave a small wave and pushed himself away from the wall, preparing to leave.

"I know you're busy, so I'll come back when the place is less busy to talk to you properly, okay?"

"Thanks, Daisuke. I'll see you later."

With a smile he opened the door and the little bell attached to it jingled as a greeting. Yamato sprinted inside and with immense speed he had himself behind the counter and already serving customers. Fridays always were the busiest days of the week and tonight was definitely going to be a long night. Stylish ladies and gentlemen were seated at the round, mahogany tables that were placed randomly around the café, each fastidiously sipping their drinks. Very few were actually participating in conversation but that was quite common with the regulars that came on Fridays. Classic fifties blues was presently playing softly; the male tenor was smooth enough to only underline the murmuring of the customers. With very few staff and an 'everyone knows everyone' colleague relationship it seemed like a stereotypical corner shop café.

The coffee machine let out a buzz and a click to signal that it had finished boiling and Yamato poured his first drink of the night.

* * *

Although it seemed fairly bizarre for a small cafto be open at midnight, it wasn't until about twelve thirty that people finally decided to call it a night and grab their coats. This is because the live entertainment didn't start until about ten o'clock, and each self promoting musician was something spectacular to see for their own reasons. For example, there was the young girl that came at eleven who couldn't be older than sixteen. She looked as though she was too young to take anything seriously in life, but when she sang the blues you could see in her eyes that she lived for her music. That sweet voice understood the pain or joy of the lyrics that a mature woman wouldn't be able to mimic. Then there was the eighty year old saxophonist that often came at the end of the evening, so there weren't many people there to see him. But he didn't mind. He just came to share his talent to whoever was awake at the time, and you could see in his greying eyes that he truly loved doing it. He was someone that Yamato truly admired, and would hopefully one day be able to hold a proper conversation with.

The bell above the door jingled, but the plump woman singing at the front wasn't distracted in the least and continued on with her heartfelt ballad. Daisuke walked in and caught Yamato's eye while he sat down at an empty table. Yamato was already preparing Daisuke's usual order; a strong mocha with nutmeg and a brandy muffin. After dropping it off on his table and exchanging a shy smile he returned to the counter to better listen to the rest of the woman's song.

Sometimes it bothered him that Daisuke kept hanging around him and visiting him at work. It wasn't that he was complaining, not at all. It was nice to know that someone enjoyed his company, and Daisuke was a really nice guy. Even when he acted a bit crazy or hyper, Yamato enjoyed having his lively company to brighten his spirits. But Daisuke was a really sporty type of person and it made him curious that he would want to hang around with someone like himself. He was usually quiet, only speaking when he had something worth saying, and he never participated in sport. From what he had heard about Daisuke he was straight as well so it wasn't a matter of him having a crush on him either.

Yamato was brought out of his thoughts when the alto melody of the woman came to an end and the audience started a quiet applaud. He took his hand off of the coffee machine handle and gave a weak clap as well while she walked off of the stage, stumbling a bit on the handmade set of stairs. The cafwas properly clearing out now that the entertainment had finished and the quiet music from the speakers started to play once more. Customers showed their gratitude to him with a few waves and smiles as they left which he returned gratefully. The sophisticated society that frequently visited the cafwere an admired crowd.

The cafhad slowly emptied now to about three tables, one of them being occupied by Daisuke. So, Yamato deemed this the time to have a proper talk with him now. But for some reason, his smile felt forced as he went to sit next to the younger man.

"So, what brings you here way past your bedtime?"

Yamato mocked, sitting on the table next to Daisuke's and folding his arms in a jokingly stern fashion. Daisuke let out a chortle that echoed in his third mug of coffee as he lowered it from his lips.

"I was running a few errands and dropped by. I know how lonely you get here without me to keep you company."

Yamato gave a tired laugh, getting a bit of entertainment from Daisuke's excuse. But he honestly knew that when Daisuke visited this late he had a reason. And after so many of these late night visits, he knew what it was.

"So, who did Taichi sleep with this time?"

He smiled sadly and rolled up his shirt sleeves, keeping eye contact to a minimal amount. His soft voice was quieter than usual and void of emotion. The atmosphere around them had stopped being laughable the moment he'd said those words, and Daisuke's mood darkened considerably as well.

This was why Yamato found it difficult to show a genuine smile.

It was known to both of them that Taichi had a bit of a problem. But then again, saying that it was a 'bit of a problem' was an understatement.

It had started in high school, where everyone was experimenting with everything. It was all about having fun and being rebellious, fucking with the system and generally bullshitting around. To begin with, Taichi would only do it so that he could have the energy to keep on partying for days on end. He wouldn't need sleep after a handful of whatever he could get a hold of from the shady men that he'd approach in alleyways. This phase would have been fine if he'd known when to give it up and grow up.

But Taichi had always had an addictive personality.

It seemed that the teenage lifestyle was never over for him. When everyone left those rebellious days behind them to get a respectable job, he was still stuck in a rut. And everyone around him suffered for it. His mother was forced to spend his university funds, his sister was unable to spend as much time with him as she wanted, and Yamato was forced to deal with the consequences that came from having a lover that didn't understand what was going on around him half the time. Sometimes it seemed like he was no longer the person that he'd fallen in love with.

Daisuke knew about Taichi's mishaps, being one of the few people that Taichi liked to hang around with. So, he stirred his cooling coffee with his finger and slowly spoke.

"It was yesterday. There was this stupid woman that dragged him into it. I'm sorry."

"There's no reason for you to be sorry. You weren't the one he fucked."

Yamato sighed quietly while scratching his forearms and watching the men clear the stage. It certainly wasn't anything to be surprised about. Girl or boy, Taichi just couldn't say no to them.

Daisuke got out of his own chair to sit next to Yamato, but he didn't make any physical gestures to give comfort. He simply sat next to him.

"I'm probably gonna sound like a bastard of a friend to Taichi, but...why are you with him? He's done this too often to be funny any more and no matter what I've done, or you've done, to help him, he's just ignoring us. Maybe it's best for you to just...break up."

Just the mention of breaking up caused aches within Yamato. He hated the idea of leaving Taichi. Even if he wasn't the same as he was before, he always held hope that maybe he would come to his senses and return to his old self. He shook his head and unconsciously place his arms across his chest, as though he were trying to mimic the action of being held.

"I don't think I'm going to break up with him just yet. I haven't tried my best to get him clean, so I still have good faith in him. And once all of this is behind us, I'll know that I did all that I could and we worked through it together."

He smiled at the delusional image that he held in his mind of Taichi thanking him for his loving support and them running away together into the sunset. It was a beautiful image to aim for. But it was only an image. It would be impossible for reality to compare to it.

"You're really stuck on him, huh?"

Daisuke's voice shattered the image and he turned to look at the younger man, the sorrowful smile still lingering on his weary face.

"He's my best friend and the one I love. He's been beside me my whole life. And if I lose him...then I don't have much left."

"I'm not sure that's a good way of thinking about it. That just makes it sound like you're just afraid of being alone, which is impossible. You'll still have all of your friends, your brother, your dad, and you might even be able to make new friends. Think about what you gain from being with Taichi rather than what you'd lose if you weren't."

Daisuke pried Yamato's hand out from the hold that he'd had around himself, and he held it between his own. From the gleaming blush on his face Yamato could tell that just that small amount of physical contact made Daisuke feel very awkward.

"I? not the only one that doesn't like to see you hurt."

With glowing cheeks he gave a warm smile, which Yamato happily returned. But, after considering Daisuke's words, his muscles loosened and he looked back to his lap.

"I'll think about it. If that's my last resort then...I'll just have to deal with it. After all, leaving him might be some kind of wakeup call for him."

It was undecided whether he'd said that to please Daisuke or he'd actually started to consider it. The thought of being with Taichi still caused a deep pain within his chest, and a sickly shiver would run down his spine.

"Thanks, Daisuke. That means a lot to me. As a thank you gift I would give you that coffee on the house, but I'm a bit short on money at the moment."

Yamato said while peeling his hand out from between Daisuke's. As he stood up to brush off the crumbs on his apron he watched the other man give a smile and wave away Yamato's desire to reward him, like it was an unwanted insect.

"I don't need a thank you. I ordered with the intention of paying, and that is what I still intend to do."

Yamato placed the empty coffee mug and plate on a tray while Daisuke dug around clumsily or a few notes in his front pocket. His jeans were so uncomfortably fitted that he had to wriggle around in his seat in order to fit his hand into the denim compartment. But his hands surfaced victorious, holding two crumpled notes. As Yamato cleaned the table with one calculated swipe of a wet cloth Daisuke held out the first note.

"This is for the drink."

He laughed and Yamato accepted it with a nod. But before he could turn to leave Daisuke had already tucked the second note into the front pocket of his apron.

"And this is for the excellent service."

He winked. Yamato was never one to accept charitable donations, but considering he couldn't spare change to buy a close friend a cup of coffee, he concluded that it may be necessary that he accepted it. And so, feeling a deep gratitude and warmth of his friend, he was overcome with a powerful urge to embrace the man opposite from him. Which is exactly what he did. He practically dropped the tray of crockery onto the table and threw his arms around the younger man, almost ripping off his neck with his enthusiasm.

"Thank you."

If he didn't have his face buried in a thick shoulder he would have been able to see the bizarre colour of Daisuke's face after being hugged so unexpectedly by his senior. Although he wanted to sincerely respond to the affection that was shown to him, he was too embarrassed to show similar enthusiasm without laughing. So, he gave a few quick pats to Yamato's bony shoulder and slowly led him out of his arms.

"Sorry. I think I've just really embarrassed myself."

Yamato laughed and scratched his neck as he backed away to pick up the tray he'd abandoned. Daisuke displayed similar hesitance but grinned nonetheless like his usual self.

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you round, okay?"

And with that he picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and rushed to the exit sporting rose pricked cheeks and ears. He spared a glance as he opened the door to the blonde waiter who was now swiping the other tables with a distant gleam in his eyes, and kept an eye on him as he left the building and passed the large window.

* * *

Yamato hadn't been fired for his lateness that evening, but his pay had been docked for all of other the times that he'd been late as well. That added up to two hours pay, which didn't seem like a lot, but his wages were so low that those two hours pay made a great difference in his lifestyle. Not even the soft seats of his car could cheer him up on the drive home this time. And when he finally reached the car park he pulled into the parking space, turned off the ignition and looped the key around his finger, but he didn't leave the car. Instead he leant his head against the wheel, being careful not to beep the horn as he pressed his head into the leather. He just wanted a moment to think without distraction. In the apartment his mind would always stay to what needed cleaning, what needed fixing, what was missing and how much money it would cost to obtain all this. But in his car, he already had everthing he needed.

He didn't know whether he should bother confronting Taichi about what he'd done. They'd sunk into a routine that was painful on his pride to think about. He'd bring up the problem, Taichi would apologise and tell him how much he loved him, then Yamato would forgive him and hand him more money to bring him back to the start of the cycle. He'd even stopped getting angry at Taichi for things. Now, he was just sick of it all and the monotony of their relationship. It wasn't as though he ever intended on leaving Taichi. Even when he'd cheated thefirst time it had never been considered as an option. Taichi used to be the only constant in his life. His father would come and go in a drunken stupor, his mother would try desperately to keep Takeru away from him and directionless life style, even his friends slowly began to grow apart from him when they went to university and he was forced to get a job. But Taichi had never quit on him. Whether he wanted him there or not, Taichi would come to his apartment practically every other day since their first day of meeting. That was probably why the ended up falling in love.

When they were young Yamato didn't mind Taichi going out and partying because usually they'd be doing it together. When Taichi struggled for money to buy beer so did he, and when Taichi felt like doing a few lines and crashing at a strangers house he would be right there with him, equally oblivious to what was going on around him.

But times had changed.

He had responsibilities now.

While Taichi was still embracing his youth he'd grown up.

Maybe Daisuke had a good point. Normally when a child was bad they should have something valuable taken away from them, like a toy or television privileges. And since Taichi was acting like a kid then he should be punished like one too, right? So, what better thing to confiscate than himself...right?

But what if he wasn't as valuable as he thought to Taichi?

If it was okay to sleep with so many other people in the first place then maybe Taichi would just tell him '_fine, I didn't really want you anyway.'_

Yamato banged his head against the steering wheel a few times more, not caring if he set off the airbag. He could already feel the spreading swell of a bruise forming. If the time came to it, Yamato knew he probably wouldn't leave Taichi. He didn't have the courage.

"Shit."

He breathed into the leather of the steering wheel and unbuckled his seat belt. He wanted to eat four tubs of chocolate ice-cream and a family size pizza with a side dish of two bottles of whiskey. But, noticing the feelig in his stomach he knew that he'd probably end up going to bed after a glass of water. At least he was saving money on food.

* * *

Yamato was dreaming of a boat upon raging waters. A storm rocked the wooden vessel powerfully and led him off course into open waters. When he hit monstrous wave the front of the boat was completely immersed in water and he could feel his whole body lean forward into the swaying depths of blue that he slowly sank into. But once he was thrown off the boat his struggles ended. It was cozy and warm beneath the water. He no longer wanted to fight against it. He relaxed and let his body be taken with the tide. If he looked above to the he could see the storm hammering against the surface of the waves, as though he were looking at the rain through a window in the ceiling.

Suddenly he felt a strong hand delve into the sea to grab onto him. It dragged hi with an iron grip towards the storm that waited for him above, no matter how much he tried to struggle. As he broke through the waves his body went into shock and he could feel panic. It felt as though he were a flopping fish and a million hooks were buried into him, pulling him in all directions. A voice soon began to echo in his ear over the thudding of rain against his face.

"Yamato. Wake up."

But as he gradually became more conscious to his surroundings, and the waves washed him upon a dry shore that felt a lot like his bed, he could see who the voice belonged to.

"Yamato. Son, where is your wallet?"

The stench of vomit, ramen and the sharpness of lingering alcohol invaded Yamato's senses on his father's breath. He was barely awake and was most certainly not in the mood to deal with finances so early in the morning. His attempt to pull away from the smell was thwarted when he realised that the reason he couldn't feel his arm was because his father had a deathly grip upon it.

"mmmm...Dad? Why do you want to know? I already gave you some money."

Saying this he peeled his parent's had off of him and rolled over, further into the warmth of the blankets. But just ignoring the problem obviously didn't make it go away. The older man only climbed onto the bed and began shaking him again.

"I know, I know, it's just...yesterday, Ritsu wanted me to buy him a drink and I kept telling him no, but he wouldn't listen and was telling me that he always buys me drinks and that he wants payback so I-"

"You know what, Dad? I don't really care about your shitty reasons behind it."

Yamato interrupted after having enough of the old man's ramblings. He threw off the covers as well as his father's invading hands and sat up with a huff. When he jumped around the other man to enter the living room, his father followed like a dog begging for food from its master.

"Oh, son, please don't be like that. I just-"

"I'm not being like anything. I'm just tired."

He snapped at him and dug around in the jeans he'd worn the night before to pull out his leather wallet. The poor thing was starved and felt so thin. But even so, Yamato pulled out a ¥2000 note and held it out.

"Here."

He expected the man to snatch it up greedily, but he only stared at it with a sad expression.

"Um...Yamato...I-I'm really sorry but-"

"But you need more than that. Right...I get it. So how much?"

"Well...I owe Ritsu about 1000...and then Hajime bought me a few drinks too so that-"

When Masaharu looked at his son's face he could see that he wasn't interested in his stories. He just wanted the painful moment to be over and done with. So, with a heavy sigh he broke the news.

"I need about ¥7000"

With a splutter Yamato collapsed onto the sofa, ignoring the fact that he was probably sitting on a mound of dirty clothes and plates. ¥7000 could buy him a weeks worth of food for both of them. And yet, somehow, that had managed to all be spent on drink in only three days.

"A-Are you shitting me? I can't-"

"Please, this is the last time. I'm getting my pay check next week so I can return it all with interest. And then after that I'm going to be more responsible with my money. No more bars or parties, I promise you, son. And I mean it."

With that much money gone Yamato feared that he'd have to work double shifts or take up another job to get it back. In the past when he'd worked three jobs it had been hell. He didn't have enough money to buy food to give him energy for the job he'd taken up in order to earn money. It was a harsh cycle. He would come home abused and tired, unable to take off his own shoes due to the fatigue.

Looking back into his wallet he looked to see the last three slips of paper that he had to keep him alive for the next week. And then, with a flinch he took out two of them and held them out to his father, not daring to look as he gave them away.

"Okay."

He bit his tongue to punish himself for the shake in his voice. The snatch from his father's hand was so quick that he didn't have enough to feel the money being taken from him.

"Take good care of it. That's my dinner allowance for next week."

"Thank you so much."

Yamato didn't react to the kiss that was placed upon the top of his head, nor the call that his father gave as he rushed out of the apartment. Instead he sat there, wallowing in misery and looking at the last scrap of money in his wallet. There was no point in going to bed or spending a moment trying to erase the event from his mind. His second job started in two hours anyway. So, he stumbled into the kitchen to begin his day. He put some water in a pan and set it to boil for his usual cup of coffee. They hadn't been able to afford a kettle for a while. After that he almost went to turn on the radio, only to find an empty plug socket where it should have been. It had been pawned last week to help pay the gas bill. He put a piece of bread in the toaster and went to the fridge for some butter, but it was completely empty aside from a six pack of beer. Some instant coffee was placed in a mug in preparation. Their filter had been broken for a while now so there was no chance of having a decent drink.

When the toast popped up, warm and ready to be eaten, Yamato found himself hesitating. The churning feeling that he'd been having in his stomach morphed his perception of food. It looked inedible to him now.

In his frustration he huffed as he threw his breakfast in the bin and even poured the coffee he'd made down the sink. He glared at the dark liquid as it swivelled around the drain. The only noise in the apartment was the glugging of the drain as it drank his coffee, and his heavy breaths as he hunched over the sink.

"Time for work."

He muttered and rubbed his cold hands together as he went to get dressed.

The radiator was broken.

* * *

Yamato's second job was at a school on the edge of Odaiba as a music tutor. It had been a lot of effort to get the job, but it always been something that he'd wanted to do. He had more than enough experience, the only problem had been his age and qualifications. He hadn't completed grades or gotten a degree in music. The head of the music department had known that self tutoring would only get a person so far. But Yamato was determined to prove his worth. And it had done him well. Now he was able to experience the joy of influencing the younger generation. It was such a privilege to have a child learn from him.

The area around the school was one of the factors that had influenced him to apply for the job. Because it was on the outskirts of Odaiba it was quiet and empty, but that only served to make the area more peaceful. When he walked around to have lunch he would be able to hear the children having fun during their hour of play, whereas in central Odaiba he would hear nothing but speeding cars, persistent salesmen and the chatter coming from overcrowded bars and cheap restaurant chains.

On this particular day he was unable to afford lunch, nor did he particularly want to eat. So, instead of sitting in the park like he usually would, he took a wander around the area. Sadly the Sakura trees that lined the pond weren't in bloom for him to enjoy, but he knew that when they were it would make the place even more beautiful. He could have walked in circles for hours and not noticed that any time had gone by. That is, until the skies opened up and a flood of downpour fell upon him. With his jacket over his head he sprinted back to the school to make it in time for his next student.

When he tumbled into the school reception he left a stream of rain water leading behind him back out into the rain.

"Welcome back, Yamato. Did you have a good lunch? Do you need a towel?"

The cheery receptionist gave him a refreshingly honest smile as she flicked back her long black hair. Yamato folded his trench coat over his arm and nodded as he approached the desk.

"Ah, thank you Mommoko. I think a drenched sensei might have frightened my students."

She held out a small white towel from the medical kit which he took gratefully.

"On the contrary, I think that a drenched sensei is quite charming."

She laughed as he shook out his hair and used the towel to wipe his face and arms. Just as he was about to head back to his room her sweet voice called out to him again.

"Oh, and Yamato, you have a visitor waiting for you in room six. I told him that you were out, but he insisted that he wait for you."

"Thank you."

It was surprising for him to have a visitor during work hours, but considering he didn't have a cell phone it was plausible. If there was an emergency the only way of contacting him would be to find him directly.

Before barging into the room, Yamato peered through the small window to peek at his supposed visitor. He couldn't really see anyone though. It was impossible to get a look at the whole room through the small window.

Opening the door revealed to him someone he'd never expect as a guest.

His younger brother, who was most probably missing a lecture in order to see him.

"Takeru? What are you doing here? You've never-"

"Nii-chan. I'm in a bit of trouble."

Takeru squabbled before he was even able to get into the room with his whole body. But once the door was closed behind him, Yamato gave his sibling his full attention.

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Money. I need-"

"Woah, hold on. Mum is the one you should go to for money troubles, we discussed this. She doesn't want me lending you anything."

"Well that's difficult, considering she cut me off!"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, just like that! No warning or anything! She just said 'Takeru, I've had enough of this' and just flat out refused to give me money."

Yamato sighed. Takeru was obviously exaggerating the situation. Their mother was not one to make a decision without warning or particular reasons. So, Yamato leaned back against the teacher's desk and gave his brother a stern look while folding his arms.

"What could have been the reason for that do you think?"

His sarcastic remark wet unnoticed by Takeru, who only continued with his story with full enthusiasm and innocent eyes.

"I dunno. But whatever it is, it's ruined everything. I'm late on rent at my dorm, I owe guys money, I can't buy food and I can't even afford to use my car. I have to get the bus."

"What about your part time job?"

"I got fired a few weeks ago."

Yamato's sigh sounded more like a grunt of frustration. He dug his hands into his eyes, finally feeling the tiredness that he should have experienced that morning.

"Takeru, that was your third job since-"

"I know, I know. I don't need a fucking lecture from you as well. You don't even understand anyway. I can barely keep up my studies let alone hold down a regular job, and to get any reasonable amount of money I have to work double shifts! Which is ridiculous! So-"

"So you want a loan from me?"

"Please, Nii-chan. Just ¥10,000, I'll pay-"

"10,000? Are you fucking with me? I can't afford dinner let alone lend you 10,000 !"

"Then get another job!"

"Why don't you get another job?"

"Because I'm the one that's going to university! My education is important! You have time to work another job, but I don't."

"So you think my time isn't valuable? I'm already working two full-time jobs Takeru. It's not fair."

"Tell that to Mum, she doesn't understand what fair means either."

Takeru's volume had increased tenfold as he pleaded his case. He'd been unable to stand still since Yamato had walked into the room, constantly hopping from table to table, having a seat for ten seconds and the standing again. Just watching him made Yamato nervous and he decided that it was time to tone down his temper. He should never show his angry side to his little brother. With a deep exhale he continued to talk.

"Maybe this is her way of getting you to be more independent and responsible. Even if you've got a good job you still need to take care of your finances. You can't be blowing it all on parties and food."

"I don't blow it all. I'd just like to have a social life occasionally."

"And that is perfectly fine. But it's all good in moderation."

Takeru pushed away from the table that he'd been seated on for all of five seconds in order to approach his brother. It was visible in his face that his patience was wearing thin. He'd been talking to his brother for a good amount of time now, and he still hadn't been able to get what he'd came for. Usually his brother would comply to his every whim without the need for any persuasive skills.

"I didn't come here for a lesson in finances Nii-chan. I just need a bit of money to get me started this week. Then I'll find a new job to pay for the rest of it."

Looking at the bright youthful eyes of his baby brother made Yamato want to give him anything he wanted. He would give Takeru the world if he could. He could only hope that Takeru wasn't purposely trying to play on his weakness. Takeru wouldn't be evil like that. With Takeru now being in arm's length of him, Yamato was able to pull him into an apologetic one armed hug.

"I'm sorry, Takeru. If I had it I would give it to you, believe me. But I can't. I don't have enough."

He could feel his brother tense in his arms and pull away sharply, throwing Yamato's arm back and denying his affection.

"Thanks for your help."

His tone was sarcastic and low as he stormed towards the door. Yamato grabbed his arm before he was able to pull the door off its hinges.

"Takeru, please don't do this. I said I'm sorry. I don't know what to do to-"

Takeru turned around in one movement. His face said everything that Yamato had feared. His eyes were squinted in anger, with a glossy sheen of collecting tears coating them.

"You obviously can't do anything useful for me so why don't you just fuck off. I'll get my own money."

He shook off his brothers arms with enough force to make him stumble back a few paces, and he threw open the door. Yamato stood, shocked, as he watched his beloved sibling storm away from him in anger towards the reception. He wanted to call out to him. He wanted to make him happy. Takeru had never walked away from him in anger from him. When he finally found his voice he reached out in panic.

"Taker-"

"Mr Ishida?"

He was interrupted by the timid voice of the young girl behind him. He pulled back his hand and composed himself, seeing that Takeru had now left the building. With a false smile he turned to his meek student.

"Ah, I'm sorry Shina. Were you waiting long?"

She laughed and shook her head, still too young to realise that she had imposed on a serious moment. Instead she tucked her music book under her arm and reached for her Sensei's hand to lead him to the music room.

* * *

Yamato felt an unbearable, yet imaginary weight press against his chest as he lay dozing on his sofa. He'd had to call in sick at the cafbecause he'd practically fainted on his way home. It was damn lucky that he'd lost consciousness while the car was parked. He knew the cause, ad he knew how to solve it. The only problem was that his problem refused to comply. He'd made a fresh batch of soup when he came home, no matter how ill the smell made him feel. But, even with his strong will to eat he still managed to vomit up every drop and more of what he'd eaten.

Yamato regretted not changing into dry clothes now that he realised that he was chilled to the bone. The combination of cold water and cold air had him shivering. Struggling to get comfortable he squirmed onto his back and placed a pillow over his head to block out the buzz from the old refrigerator and the clatter coming from the apartment next to his. But because of this Yamato was unable to hear the front door open and close as well as the muted footsteps that approached him. Only the sudden weight of someone jumping on top of him woke him up.

"Wakey wakey."

Yamato heard the muffle of a deep voice filter through the padded cushion over his face. When he pulled it away he wasn't surprised to see that he was being straddled by a large figure. Two thick long legs were parted over his hips to hold him in place, two dark muscular arms rested next to his face and two deep brown eyes looked deep into his own. He laughed and placed the cushion back over his face.

"Oh God, what a sight to wake up to."

He could feel the rumble of Taichi laughing as well, and this time the cushion was forcefully removed and thrown across the room.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?"

Taichi smiled and lowered himself so that their chests were connected and his warm exhales would brush against his face.

"Whatever makes you happy, darling."

Yamato replied, poking his tongue out playfully. But his playful mood died a swift and painless death as soon as Taichi decided that he wanted to kiss him. Their lips met and Yamato felt an electricity stir within him. It wasn't the kind of powerful shock that he'd normally feel. But instead it was a blissful buzz of attraction that felt more natural.

As Taichi slowly and tenderly moved against his lips, Yamato reached up to stroke his cheek and neck. Delving deeper and wanting more from him, he began to nip and lick and at Taichi's lower lip, liking how he was meeting his actions with equal want and meeting his tongue with his own. Wanting more contact between them Taichi rested his weight on one arm so to tuck the other beneath his lover and pull him closer, rubbing their chests and hips together with a steady passion. Yamato too locked his arm around Taichi's waist to pull him closer to feel that delicious heat that he needed. His temperature had already jumped from dangerously low to uncomfortably hot.

They were so familiar with each other's kisses that their lips and tongues moved together like cogs in a clock, understanding which direction the other was going to move before it had even begun to happen. And when Taichi hesitantly pulled away he left several lingering pecks upon his lips before resting his face into the sweet smelling neck of his lover, breathing air onto Yamato's sensitive place behind his ear.

"Mmm, was that because you had a good day or a bad day?"

He mumbled, feeling a short shiver rush through the man beneath him as he planted tiny kisses and bites behind his ear where a light red mark would soon blossom.

"I think I'm gonna end up dead before tomorrow."

Yamato sighed, wanting to say it with contempt, but while feeling so relaxed it sounded slightly more light hearted than intended. Either way Taichi still smiled. Lifting his head he could see that Yamato had his eyes closed once more, ready to go to sleep. But he wouldn't allow that. He pinched the poor man's nose and watched as he tried to bat him away.

"Well don't die just yet. I haven't seen you in a while. Don't I deserve a proper greeting?"

He pleaded in a lustful voice and released Yamato's nose to undo the buttons on the soaking wet shirt that he wore.

"Selfish bastard."

He heard the blonde mutter with no hint of spite. So with a lusty chuckle he merely continued to undress him.

"Only for you, my love."

It was lucky that his father wasn't home, because Yamato couldn't have stopped Taichi even if he wanted to. He was too weak when it came to this man.

With the buttons of his shirt all undone Taichi peeled the fabric off of Yamato's wet skin to reveal his naked torso, gleaming with moisture beneath the harsh overhead light. He could see that his lover was shaking from the cold. Tiny shivers rattled the delicately pale skin that had been revealed to him and his rosy nipples were pert, reaching out for Taichi's warm touch. So he did his best to provide the man with the warmth he needed. He ran his hands firmly over Yamato's stomach and leant into him so to cover him with his own chest. He could tell that Yamato was thankful for it when he felt two delicate hands link behind his neck and pull him closer. He could feel the increasing rise and fall of the other's chest as his breaths became more irregular, though he could tell that he was trying so hard to keep it in check.

He kissed the dip of his sternum and felt the slender hands clench his hair, sending delicious spark of gentle pain down his neck. He felt a magnetic pull towards Yamato's lips, craving to kiss them again. Although they were both lazy in their movements the pleasure from them hadn't been dulled. When Taichi ground down onto Yamato's hips they both felt the heat from the friction through their jeans, and when Yamato dragged a lone finger slowly down Taichi's clothed spine he still shivered and bit down on the other's lip in satisfaction. He licked the wound afterwards of course in apology, which evoked a pleasing sigh from Yamato as he clung tighter to Taichi and wound his legs around the larger man's hips, bringing them in closer contact. The undulating of their hips became rhythmic and louder gasps were breathed between eachother's lips.

"Do you wanna take this to the bedroom?"

Taichi smiled and kissed Yamato's chin before moving to his neck. His breath brushed Yamato's ear and even ruffled the sensitive hairs on his neck which stood up instantly in pleasured shock.

"mmm, you're gonna have to drag me though. I can't move."

"That's fine with me."

With that as his only warning Taichi tightly wound his arms around Yamato's waist and pulled him against his chest. He didn't recieve any sort of resistance other than a surprised yelp and for Yamato to cling desperately to his shoulders when he was lifted into the air. Laughing, Taichi merely kissed his neck and kept a tight hold of him. He could feel Yamato's erection pressing against his stomach and he found himself to be suddenly much more energetic. The tender massage that he'd been giving to Yamato's back evolved into needy clinging and groping while his teeth worked to create viscious red marks across Yamato's neck. He didn't even need to look at where he was going in order to make his way to the bedroom. The trip had been made millions of times before and now he had memorised every nook of his lover's apartment. And when they finally made it to the bed he was bold enough to leave the door open.

* * *

Yamato stirred, trying to stop himself from falling asleep. It was difficult to keep conscious when he was so snug, tucked into the chest of his lover. The connection of their skin was no longer lustful, but instead comforting; secure. He could feel Taichi's arm press him closer while the other stroked his hair.

"You feeling any better?"

He could feel more than hear Taichi speak to him.

"I feel even more tired than before, jackass."

He laughed and buried his face into the larger man's neck, pinching his arm as a joking punishment. Taichi yelped even though he'd hardly intended it to be painful.

"It's not my fault. If you didn't want it then you should've locked the front door. Seeing you look so cute when I came in...how could I resist?"

Taichi nipped at the delicate shoulder in his sight, seeing that it was one place that he had yet to leave his mark upon. When he unconsciously moved to rub his hands over Yamato's hips he felt him jump and push him away.

"Don't do that! You're hands are fucking cold!"

"So warm them up for me."

He heard Yamato shout and fidget as he tortured the poor man with his icy digits. It couldn't be helped considering the apartment felt like an ice box. But within their own world under the blankets they were warm. Their fighting didn't last long after Yamato discovered that if he moved too much then cold air would seep under the blankets. It wasn't as if he minded Taichi's cold hands. So long as they belonged to Taichi, Yamato would accept them no matter what their condition. He lay content while Taichi caressed his neck with his chilled hands, absorbing his body heat slowly. He even rubbed his own hand over Taichi's so to create friction. With the rhythmic pressure that Taichi placed on his jaw and behind his ear, Yamato found himself slowly drifting off to sleep again. His mind was wrapped in a warm blanket and he could hear Taichi's breathing accompanied with the quiet buzzing from the kitchen.

But as soon as that warmth was gone, Yamato found himself wide awake again.

Taichi had withdrawn from his hold and sat up in the bed. Yamato simply pulled the covers down to get a better view of his tanned back as he stretched to pull out the kinks from lying in one position for too long.

"Are you going out again?"

He asked regretfully as he pulled the covers over his shoulders to compensate from the loss of a warm body in the bed with him. It was depressing to see that his lover didn't have enough time to bask in the afterglow of sex with him. Taichi's eagerness to leave had even spoilt the mellow atmosphere that had finally been achieved after a day full of nothing but strife.

"Yeah, I was just going to meet up with a few of the guys for drinks."

Yamato nodded and rolled over to face away from Taichi after he'd covered his muscled back with his shirt. Yamato listened to the rustle of denim, the sharp sound of a zip being fastened while rubbing his legs and hands together to recreate the warmth that he'd felt before. His struggle was interrupted when he felt Taichi lie back to rest his head on his shoulder.

"Yama, Do you have any change that you could lend me?"

Yamato couldn't see Taichi's face because he was still tucked up in the covers, but he knew from the voice that he used that he probably wore his pitiful pleading expression. He tried his best to suppress a huff of annoyance and pulled the covers over his face.

"What do you mean when you say change?"

"Not much. About 4000 would be great. I owe a bit to some friends."

"Don't you mean dealers?"

Yamato threw back the covers and exclaimed, forcing Taichi to roll away before he was hit with the blonde's swinging shoulder. Jumping off the bed he watched as Yamato stormed out of the room, pulling on his pyjama bottoms as he stomped away.

"Yamato? What's wrong?"

He called out and went to the doorway to watch Yamato head to the kitchen. He hadn't gone there for any particular reason other than to create a distance between him and Taichi before he took out his day's anguish out on him with a few punches. He held tight onto the kitchen counter as he watched Taichi approach him from the corner of his eye.

"What's got you so uptight all of a sudden?"

Just before he could put his arms around him Yamato spun around to push him away, back in the direction of the door. He pointed a thin calloused finger towards Taichi's baffled expression.

"You! You've gotten me uptight. I'm not giving you any money."

"Is this because I did something?"

Yamato growled in frustration and folded his arms. Although he was upset that Taichi had fucked around that wasn't the main reason why he was refusing his request. Taichi had cheated many times before and Yamato would still lend him money. The problem was that Taichi was using him like a cash point. All he had to do was press a few buttons, insert his dick, and then money would come out. He'd been in the apartment all of forty five minutes and they hadn't even had a full conversation yet before he was intending to leave with more of his lover's hard earned money.

"I did something again didn't I? Well, what did I do? I don't remember."

"Of course you don't fucking remember. And it doesn't matter to me what or who you did. It's just-"

"Come on, Yama. You know I'm not like that. I only have eyes for you."

"Then why would you-"

"This addiction makes it so that I'm not myself. I'm trying my best to change. "

This conversation was sounding even more familiar to Yamato every second it continued. It was quite embarrassing to realise that he had yet to complete an entire sentence without Taichi jumping in to make excuses.

"If you were trying your best the-"

"I am! I'll do anything, Yama. This is just the last time. If you don't have the money then I can wait for it or-"

"Shut up and let me talk!"

His voice boomed throughout the small apartment and probably through the apartments so either side of it as well. Taichi backed away to where he started. As he'd bee trying to persuade Yamato he'd been slowly approaching him without noticing it. He gulped down any fighting words and looked into the blue eyes that glared at him from across the room. There was a power within them that Taichi hadn't seen in a long time which, as inappropriate as it was, sought to stir his loins once more. He'd always loved to see Yamato so passionately filled with emotion, be it anger, sorrow or joy. He kept his mouth shut and watched with frozen wide eyes as Yamato continued.

Yamato on the other hand was shocked with his boldness, and the obedience of Taichi. Now that there was silence he almost felt too bashful to continue. But luckily, there was still enough of left of the adrenalin pumping through him to keep up his courageous charade.

"Even if I did have the money, I still wouldn't give it to you."

Taichi's eye twitched as though he were suppressing something, but he didn't interject immediately lie Yamato had expected. So Yamato softened his stance and continued.

"This is the first time I've seen you in two weeks and all you do is have your fill of my body and then ask me to pay you. I'm not going to-"

"Yama, it isn't like that at all. How could you think-"

"I told you to shut up!"

Taichi winced and bit his tongue. With a deep inhale Yamato spoke.

"Whenever I give into your begs and pleas for money you just take it, blow it all on drugs and alcohol, and then shove your dick into the first thing you come across. Not only am I left alone, broke, but you are making me vulnerable to so many STDs because of your fucking around. I refuse to suffer because of your problems."

As he continued, Yamato could see how Taichi's face contorted and changed as different emotions swept through him like changing tides. He'd finally managed to say what he'd always wanted. But it wouldn't be enough as it was. It wasn't enough for Taichi to just know that he was upset. He wanted to get across just how upset he was. That was when his mind brought him back unwillingly to what Daisuke said to him the day before.

"The next time it happens I'm going to do what I should have done the first time."

It sounded as though he were speaking to himself. A part of him wished that Taichi wouldn't be able to hear him so he could pretend he hadn't said it. Just like in his dream that morning he felt as though he were in a rocking boat with the sea pushing against the sides with its many hands, trying to tip him over. He held the counter behind him in a white knuckled grip and consulted his voice of reason, which sounded a lot like Daisuke's. Despite his complex, Yamato decided to stop rolling the words on his tongue and finally spit them out. The same words that came down on Taichi like the blade of a guillotine.

"I'm going to put an end to us."

Taichi felt a stab in his chest, as though Yamato had physically wounded him.

"Yama, you can't be serious!"

He laughed only to reassure himself that Yamato has just joking or trying to intimidate him. There was no way Yamato would leave him. They'd been together so long, it must've been his cruel way of putting his message across. But when he reached out to Yamato, expecting him to take his hand and apologise, the other merely shook his head. Taichi found his strength again. If Yamato wouldn't take his hand by choice then Taichi would just have to grab it by force. With a dive he took hold of the pale wrist and pulled Yamato to him. There was some resistance, but since his legs had been so weak he simply stumbled into Taichi's chest.

"You-You're gonna waste all these years for just a little setback?"

He put his hand to the pale cheek, hoping to evoke sympathy in him. He stroked the small freckle that sat beneath the wide blue eye with his thumb and tucked his fingers beneath his sharp jaw bone. No matter how he held Yamato he would always fit perfectly against him. His hand was the perfect size and form to cup the delicate face. Yamato too could feel the flawless connection between their bodies. It tingled where they were connected. But he couldn't be carried away by his hormones. He feigned apathy and took hold of Taichi's wrist to pull away his hand.

"If that's what it takes, then yes."

He whispered, keeping his eyes locked with the watery oaken ones that stared back at him.

"You don't love me any more, do you? You're using this as an excuse to get rid of me!"

Taichi was the one to pull away this time, not liking how his eyes itched and stung the longer he looked at Yamato.

"Don't send me on a fucking guilt trip, Taichi! I love you when you're with me and when your sober. But when you're out, fucking other people and killing yourself with...with that-"

He didn't know how to continue. The image of Taichi in the state that he often came home in gave Yamato the feeling of a hand being clamped around his throat. It felt as though his jaw had rusted shut when he chose to speak on.

"I can't say that I love you when you're out...doing shit like that."

Taichi didn't really feel sad any more. He felt betrayed. Abandoned by the one man he loved with his entire being. He wiped his arm across his eyes were that itchy feeling persisted to annoy him and he backed out of the kitchen towards to door.

"You know what? I don't need a fucking lecture from you. You don't understand. I just wanted to have a nice evening with the man I love and you just...and you just fuck it up by saying something like that. I just wanted a few yen, not the lottery."

His arms were tense and completely rigid while he tried to put his shoes on. On the other hand, Yamato was strangely calm, padding slowly towards where Taichi sat doing up his shoe laces. Leaning against the wall he slowly lowered himself to the floor to sit beside him. He was shivering the same way a small animal would when faced with a predator. Not even holding his hands across his chest calmed his rattling bones. His back would collide with the wall behind him with every muscle spasm. His eyes followed Taichi. His tense shoulders had been tucked up to his ears, making his task even more difficult and taking up unnecessary time when all he wanted was to get out of the apartment and wash the incident away with a few shots of something strong.

"Did you know, Takeru said something like that to me today as well? 'I don't want your lectures, just your money. You don't understand'."

Yamato stuttered around his chattering teeth. He could hear Taichi stop moving in order to pay him the slightest bit of attention.

"Well, if it's so difficult for an idiot like me to understand then why don't you go to him for money. Why don't you fuck him instead of me? He'd understand, right?"

He brought his knees up to his chest and tucked his head between them. The shaking was getting so hard to control. His spine ached from all of the contractions.

"You'd make each other so fucking happy. You could go out drinking, and snorting brick dust all night long and you wouldn't have to deal with all of my stupid lectures and therapy sessions."

It wasn't until he'd said it that he'd realised what a spiteful thing he'd said. He hadn't even intended to involve Takeru, but after his argument that afternoon he unreasonably decided that he fit well into their problem, and he couldn't stop himself from saying those things.

"That's low, Yamato."

He heard Taichi choke, his voice sounding more watery than he'd expected.

"That's really fucking low."

Yamato heard a loud bang and the clatter of metal hitting the floor. Taichi had kicked over the shoe rack. He had a face that didn't suit him at all. A dark flush of rage dominated his tanned features and the itching of his eyes finally gave way to salty streams that were now running down his cheeks. Yamato couldn't stand the sight.

"How could you even suggest that? You're the one I love, even if you don't love me back any more."

Yamato's lack of response was frightening, but it only served to fuel Taichi's anger and frustration. With a slam to the floor his pushed himself to standing. Any derision that he had intended to throw was stopped at the front of his teeth when he saw that Yamato had his face tucked in his knees.

"Yama, look at me."

He ordered, sounding more like a scolding parent than his lover. Yamato heard him loud and clear. It was impossible to ignore that demanding voice. But, hearing the rattle at the back of Taichi's throat and the emotion in his voice was scary. He didn't want to see that stricken face and give in to him. With a deep shiver he folded further into himself and felt the grooves of his spine rub against the wall in a painful manor.

"Look at me!"

The wall behind him shook violently with the force of a powerful impact very suddenly and Yamato pulled his head up the same way a hare would when startled. Taichi's movements had been seemingly silent, but with the position that the were now in Yamato could feel his ascendency. Taichi's hands fists were almost embedded in the walls next to his head, and the pulsating muscles in his limbs were at a close enough range to intimidate Yamato within his own weak form. Taichi was kneeling in front of him with his chest pressed up against Yamato's knees, commandeering most of his personal space, and their faces only a hair's breadth apart. Yamato could only inhale Taichi's warm, moist breath as he practically demanded eye contact with his presence. Within those leaking brown orbs a fire had been stirred and Yamato could feel his skin burning by simply looking into them. It became too hot to breathe, think, speak, move. It was too late to look away now that the fire had started to spread. Taichi spoke slowly and deliberately, keeping his jaw tense unintentionally.

"Tell me you love me."

He sucked in his bottom lip and bit down as hard as he could so to swallow a sob that had bubble in his throat. It was one thing to cry in front of Yamato, but it was another to allow himself to fall into hysteric bawls and cries. The longer he waited for a reply, the faster his strength began to leave him. His fists began to unfurl, his lips began to quiver despite the deep teeth marks he had made in them, and his arms weakened as well, forcing him to lean into Yamato even closer so to stop himself from fully collapsing on top of him. Their lips were almost connected. If he used his tongues to wet his lips then surely he would be wetting Yamato's at the same time.

"Please,"

He whispered, tasting his own desperation on his tongue, which was a bitterness unlike any sour fruit. It was a flavour that could only be washed out of his mouth by the taste of another's lips-lips that were so close to his own that he brushed their chapped surface as he spoke. His gaze darted to those quivering rose petals, only to fly back up a moment later to wash himself in the watery blue eyes that stared back at him, shocked and conflicted.

"just tell me. You love me right? Of course you do. You wouldn't really leave me, would you? Yama?"

No reply. But Yamato's features softened, letting down his guard and commanding himself to listen to what Taichi was telling him, rather than just stare into his eyes and long that those pupils would never stray to the sight of another young streetwalker ever again. His response was on the tip of his tongue; a mechanical response that he was so used to telling him. '_I love you, too'_. But he pulled on his own reigns and stopped himself. The whole point of this confrontation was that he wouldn't make the same repetitive mistake of submitting to the man's tearful pleas. It was best for both of them. When he tried to turn away Taichi snatched his face in his hands and forced him to turn back to look at him.

"I love you so much."

He sobbed while loosening his grip on the delicate jaw and drawing a faint line down Yamato's neck with his fingers very lightly. But even that small amount of contact had Yamato's skin heating up, feeling like Taichi had just branded him.

"Maybe you should go, Taichi."

It came out as a whisper, unintended to offend. He stroked Taichi's hands while removing them from his body. He was cruel because his insult had seemed so affectionate and tender. You wouldn't normally do such a thing to a man you had just told to get out of your house.

Taichi jumped back in horror and shock. Yamato looked so calm as he unfolded his legs to stretch in front of him.

"Fuck you."

He growled and practically dug his nails into the wall to stand. Even with such a fierce expression his legs felt liquefied beneath his own weight.

"Fuck you! How could you - Ugh Fuck you!"

Taichi still had one of his shoes undone, but he didn't give a damn. He wanted out of there as soon as possible. He grabbed his jacket that lay in a heap on the floor beside him, gripping onto the wall as though he were leaning over the edge of a cliff.

"You want to get rid of me so fucking badly? Then fine! I'm off to get completely wasted and shove my diseased dick into the first mammal that comes within a mile of me!"

He practically ripped the door off of its hinges as he pulled it open, sending the shoes that had been knocked on to the floor flying across the corridor. Even when a sharp loafer smacked Yamato's leg he didn't move. His eyes stung from not blinking as he observed Taichi stomp and bang his fist against the door frame.

"I don't need you, or your fucking money!"

He didn't close the door after him and instead dashed down the stairs in long leaps, a harsh clang reverberating through the building every time his foot came in solid contact with the metal stairs. The harsh outside wind had now entered Yamato's apartment as an unwelcome guest and stabbed his naked chest with a million icy needles. He didn't want to close the door yet though; not while he could still Taichi's footsteps as he descended the stairs. It was a terrifyingly lulling noise to hear the love of his life running away from him. But even if it felt like clawed hands were ripping his chest open and pawing at his heart, he was still convinced that good would eventually come from his decision. The was still a battered and bleeding part of his former spirit that remained with him, which alone was enough to force him to stand and shut the door.

* * *

_My gosh, I haven't written for so long that I forgot how much work it takes. I could have been writing for days and still only produced about 12,000 words. It's the same feeling as running on a_

_treadmill for ages. After all that running there is no satisfaction of actually being anywhere different. There's just a burn in your ass and thighs._

_Anyways..._

_Hello people._

_This is a rewritten version of my fiction "Love, life, liquor and silence are all I want"._

_For people who are reading this story for the first time, it's best if you don't read the old one because it would only ruin the plot. There were plot holes, character flaws and a childish writing style. Wouldn't you much rather wait for a really good story than read the crappy version of it?...exactly._

_For people who have read the other one then I have to say that quite a lot of this fic has been changed, so don't just assume that I've only changed the characters. A lot of the plot is different now and I've added in more ideas and taken a few away. All in all, the story is more rounded. Before I just had tons of ideas that I just wanted to mesh together without thinking whther they'd work or not. Also, my writing style has developed since I wrote the old version in my opinion, which makes a huge difference in itself, but I've also learned how to make the characters more fluid and realistic. I think that the little changes in what the characters say and act really makes a difference to define their personality; conversations flow much easier and are less repetitive. Also, I think this version of the story might end up slightly more depressing than the other one...which seems difficult but somehow possible. What can I say...I'm a sucker for tragedy._

_The old version of this story is gonna be taken down in a couple of weeks to make way for this one's debut._

_And finally, if you actually want to follow me as an author or just fancy reading another one of my fics then you should now that I have two Digimon oneshots completed and on their way. And guess what - there's actually no yaoi in them! But don't toss the idea just yet. In one of them you could probably imagine that there is some boy love in it, but I hadn't initially intended it to be interpreted in that way. In the second fic the couple is heterosexual, but I still like the pairing even though I'll alwalys be a yaoi fan at heart. Both are dramatic and angsty and are best read while listening to good music. I might add a theme song to them to listen to while you read them. It really creates an atmosphere to the story._

_So thankyou for your time. I'd be so happy if you left a review. Tell me of any errors that I can fix since I've gotten out of the habbit of proof reading my stories._

_The more reviews there are, the faster I'll update and I'll be less likely to forget to write._

**_Bed. of. nails. and. sandpaper_**

**_x_**

_P.S. sorry that there's no full sex scene, but it's the first chapter...I need to preserve the passion...and also I'm a bit out of practice and I'm a bit bashful when it comes to intimate scenes like that. I feel like there's someone watching me type from behind that's just gonna jump out and scream "gay pervert" and destroy my newly fixed laptop ='[ . I just need to work back my courage to write sexual things and not completely cringe._


	2. Chapter 2

**Money and Martyrdom**

* * *

The next morning Yamato woke up later than expected. He'd hoped that the phone would ring in the middle of the night and Taichi would be on the other end, begging for his forgiveness. He'd wished even more that Taichi would apologise in person and come banging on the door bent down on one knee, but he knew that he would be expecting the impossible if he held to that hope. It was his alarm clock that jolted him awake, announcing that it was time to get up and go to work again. Like clockwork he went through the routine of getting up, preparing breakfast, and then throwing it away moments later.

"Oh, God."

He griped and held to his stomach in agony. The thin, empty acid it contained was raging and swirling like a washing machine on a heavy cycle. He could feel himself wasting away, and it scared him. If this carried on any longer then he wouldn't be able to work. He wouldn't be able to leave his bed even. The thought of becoming a nuisance or helpless forcibly quelled the sickness, trying to put a stop to it before it fed the fears. Instead the pain of hunger took its place, like claws digging away at his stomach from the inside. He could even hear the roars of the beast itself.

Straightening his stance, he promised himself that he would not be late for work again. His students needed a healthy teacher and his father would need a healthy amount of money when he next came home. With a stiff jaw he reached up to the cabinet and pulled out a few painkillers, not caring that he poured out about five chalky white pills. He didn't care about what they'd do to him so long as they got rid of the niggling pain in his body. All of them were placed on the back of his tongue together as he poured himself a glass of water to wash them down with. He didn't bother to break them down before he gulped down the water, feeling the thick lumps stick in the top of his throat. Even after he'd finished his drink he kept recreating a swallowing motion so to help them down his oesophagus.

Putting on his work clothes he tried to forget about Taichi. He knew that despite his threat that Taichi would have gone off to drown himself in synthetic pleasures. The first few times it had happened he would be sick with worry, hoping that he would find his way home, that he wouldn't be left alone, that he wouldn't do something stupid and get himself killed. But now, he felt nothing but annoyance. That feeling is what held the frown to his face as he left for work.

* * *

"Sensei, my fingers can't stretch far enough for those chords, can't I just play a different piece?"

The small girl whined and swung her legs on the stool in front of the sleek school piano, her patent plastic shoes kicking the wooden base. Sitting next to her Yamato sighed and turned back the page of the old music book resting on the stand.

"Well, if you're desperate to give up on this one then I suppose you could play an easier one. But in order to get a top grade the examiner wants to see you play at your highest ability, and this piece is easy for you, and you know it. It just takes practice."

"My exam's in two weeks. There's not enough time to practise."

"But you thought that you could easily learn a whole different piece in that time?"

She pouted and flicked back her hair while staring at the strings of notes on the page in front of her.

"No. I suppose not."

She mumbled enough for her tutor to hear. Nodding he pointed to the page.

"A few hours of practice a day isn't going to kill you. Now, try again from bar 49. Take it slow."

With petite hands she began again, delicately pressing on the keys as she glared at the page with concentration. Yamato smiled and watched as her slender fingers moved with the music and he tapped the beat with his finger on the wood of the piano. She was doing well, just as smooth as usual if not a bit harsh. She was still too small to reach the pedals. But then when reaching the last few bars harsh mistakes began to ring with sour notes. She threw up her hands with a grunt.

"Ah Hell! - Oh, I'm sorry Ishida Sensei, I didn't mean to curse. I never use bad language like that normally, it's just-"

He chuckled and held up his hand.

"I know, it's okay. You're just lucky that I'm more lenient than Tanaka Sensei. Just, don't make a habit of it, okay?"

"Yes, Ishida Sensei."

"Good. Now, I'm sorry for holding you later than usual, but you're free to go now. I'll see you next week for your last lesson."

He slowly rose from his seat to the desk while she packed away her books in a rush to leave.

"Are you going to keep teaching me next year too, Ishida Sensei?"

She asked with complete innocence as she swung her bag over her shoulder, almost knocking down a row of music stands as she did so. Yamato sighed at her question, not knowing what he was expecting of the future any more. He worked at the school more for the enjoyment of it rather than the salary. But now that his financial situation was deteriorating it came to mind that he might have to leave in order to get another job, or another few. He sighed and leant back in his chair as he looked to her.

"I don't know. It depends if the school still want to keep me."

"I'm sure they would. And if not, then we'll all protest to get you back."

With a glaring blush she nodded with complete confidence which compelled Yamato to laugh at her childish innocence.

"That's very sweet. Now hurry up and get home. Your mum's probably waiting."

"Thank you, Ishida Sensei. I'll see you next week."

"You too. Keep practising."

She didn't bother to close the door as she skipped out. With the summer fast approaching his students seemed to be overly excited and more energetic than usual. It was refreshing to witness youth at its prime while others were all so worn and tired, himself included. He felt too lazy to even stand up and close the door though it was only a foot away. Sinking into his chair he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sheets of music on his desk began to blur as his sight wavered and he felt himself falling asleep. It had been like this all day. While one student was performing a particularly long piece he'd even felt himself begin to nod off.

Wanting to get home as soon as possible he swiped all of the papers into a crumpled handful and shoved them into his bag, thinking that he would be able to sort them later after a nice long rest in his bed. Even though he felt too tired to even move he still forced himself to stand and pushed off from his chair with such a force as to propel him forward. His shaking legs didn't last well underneath his weight and without realising it he toppled sideways into the piano, his hand slamming onto the keys and a clash of flat notes resounded in the small practice room. But from the small effect of the mismatching chord Yamato's attention was brought to the large instrument. It had been a long time since he'd played for enjoyment instead of work. Most of his instruments at home were left in a cupboard to collect dust, waiting to be sold when his situation got bad enough. His mind had gone blank as he brushed his fingers over the ivory keys.

He wanted to play.

He could hear the music in his mind and his fingers were already beginning to map out and search for the chords and melodies. Feeling the cool keys beneath his touch he pressed a harmonising chord and heard the familiar music fill the small room.

Sitting on the stool he reached into his bag and simply pulled out the first booklet of paper that he felt and placed the sheet music atop the stand. He scanned the dulled yellow page of the dog eared booklet and smiled.

Chopin's Nocturne.

He'd first learnt it years ago. He would sit in the music room for hours after school trying to perfect it, playing until his fingers were numb and it felt as though they were detached from him and he was simply an onlooker. They would dance across the plane of the piano keys as though they were a part of the music itself. He'd never performed it to anyone though. He didn't particularly want anyone to hear it either. He put his soul into that piece of music whenever he played and would feel vulnerable bearing it to anyone else. The expressions he would make when sated in the way that he was when he played was something very personal.

Slowly he poised his fingers over the keys, like dancers took the stance to begin a waltz. With flowing movements he pressed onto the first few chords, swaying his whole body into the piano. He didn't even need to look at the music and instead closed his eyes. He had every note, every crescendo and every rest written on the inside of his eyelids. He could see it all as though it were projected off of the page. He would never simply push down a key as he played. He would move his whole body to accommodate the music, swaying and lifting each hand with such grace as it brushed the pure ivory like a lover's caress. He didn't so much command the piano as he did to coax it to create such music.

He couldn't fathom why had he waited so long to be reunited with his music. Had it always felt so amazing to play? He couldn't recall. All he knew was that it felt so natural.

The song was slightly melancholy, but so very beautiful and romantic. He could picture a moonlit balcony with two lovers perched together in the front of his mind. Whether they were himself and Taichi he wasn't certain. All he knew was that these beings he'd created were flawless, sharing a kind of romantic love that only the music was close to comparing to. No human emotion could reach the perfection of these two figments of his imagination. And with the same sort of longing melody that the music created he felt his own desire to feel such love. Unreachable as it was.

As the piece drew to a close and the music became softer and softer he felt his tension and tiredness fade with the notes.

"Now, that is something that you can't teach."

The voice startled Yamato and he felt himself trip despite sitting down. He used the piano to stable him and turned to the door where Tanaka Sensei stood with a quiet smile. The lines of experience curved on his face with the gentle upturn of his lips.

"I haven't heard you play since you applied for the job."

He laughed and sat down at Yamato's desk. Yamato himself had a slight flush from embarrassment after playing with such whole devotion, oblivious that he was being watched.

"Ah, well I haven't played much apart from showing the students."

He laughed and rubbed his finger against a particular key, keeping his eyes low to his superior.

"Perhaps you should start performing. It would help to reintroduce you to your instrument."

With a bright blush on his face Yamato shook his head, thinking about how embarrassing it was to reveal his talents to one person let alone an audience.

"N-No, I don't do well in front of crowds. My music is a bit too personal."

"Just because it's personal, that doesn't mean you can't share it. If anything that would only add to the intensity of the performance, just like what you showed me now."

Yamato stayed silent, listening to the wheezing breaths of the old teacher sitting across from him. He could never imagine himself on stage, soaking up glory and flashing smiles as he performed a cheesy piano piece in a tux. It just didn't suit him. He could imagine it even now, ending his performance with jazz hands while people in the front row swore and threw broken bottles at him. Then after that scarring image marred his brain he realised that the other teacher was still talking.

"-nothing like it, I swear. With a heartfelt performance like that it's amazing to hear the audience cheer at the end, to see their pleased faces. It feels almost like some sort of acceptance. For the person you are behind the instrument."

"But where would I even start? I don't have the kind of money to join an orchestra or rent out a stage."

With a warm smile Tanaka Sensei pressed his hands into his knees to help him stand up on his old creaky legs.

"Start small. You could play in the school concert or an open performance night at a club. I promise you that soon enough you'd have fans willing to pay to see you, maybe even donate to help yo get a proper career in the music business. At least it'd be better than playing 'Oh Susanna' with ten year olds for the rest of your life."

"Don't you like teaching Tanaka Sensei?"

"Of course I do. My life revolves around these kids. But if I had the youth and passion that you had then I would be putting it towards much greater things."

The old man straightened his glasses on the dented bridge of his nose and patted Yamato's tensed shoulder as he made his way to the door.

"At least think about it. You've already got one big fan right here."

He chuckled and pointed a thumb at his chest before leaving to his own office, while a sitting Yamato held his mouth agape in confusion, staring at the open door thinking that any second the man would walk back in and say 'just kidding'.

* * *

Yamato practically blew into the apartment with the breeze. He was so relaxed that his body felt like water. He dropped his bag by the door and his shoes fell off of his feet as he stepped into the home. The music was still in his head and his hands at his side were still unconsciously playing the piece. Before he decided to rest on the sofa he looked at the phone for some reason. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to check the answering machine, even though he couldn't for the life of him remember who he was expecting a call from.

There weren't any messages.

It was a regular occurrence, but for some reason it bothered him. Someone was supposed to call. He just couldn't think who it was.

It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered at this moment while he was so blissfully calm. Music surely was his own personal cure for whatever it was that had troubled him. Not that he even remembered what it was.

Hearing a surprisingly loud howl from his stomach he felt his whole body tremble from the movement of his stomach. He felt so hungry. How could he have let it get out of hand so easily? Surely he should have realised that he was lacking food much sooner. It wasn't as though he didn't have enough to buy a simple sandwich.

His mind blank and with light feet he floated towards the kitchen to make some sort of meal from what he could find. He rummaged through the cupboards and hummed a medley of different tunes that were going through his head. There were so many songs that he'd started to remember and so many songs that he hadn't heard in years. How long had it been since he turned on the radio? He didn't have a clue what kind of music people had been listening to recently. Were his favourite bands still writing music together? Perhaps he could use some of the new music to encourage his students. If he learned a few modern songs on piano then surely they'd be inspired to practice more.

With a swipe of his hand he turned to where the radio would be plugged in to slam on the power button. When his hand went supposedly sailing through the radio and onto the table he looked to the plug socket to see that there was no radio there. With a gentle slap to his forehead the smile on his face fell and so did his hand that was still poking through the cupboard.

Ah, that's right. The radio had been sold.

With this rediscovered news the rest of his mind began to shake out the notes that he'd been humming and concentrate.

The radio was gone because he needed money to buy food.

He couldn't buy food because he'd lent his money to his father and Taichi.

He'd lent his money to Taichi so that he cold go out and drink.

He was expecting a call from Taichi after he'd walked out.

It was all coming back, and the grumbling of his stomach became quieter and quieter as he felt his appetite abandon him. The fluttering butterflies in his stomach were enough to stop him from craving food. Taichi hadn't called him. No matter how badly they usually fought Taichi would always trying and make it up to Yamato, or at the very least have the courtesy to contact him and tell him that he wasn't dead or in jail.

Feeling his worry grow Yamato looked back at the answering machine to confirm that a digital red symbol of zero was displayed, meaning that there had been no messages left for him. Taichi was either in a comatose state somewhere in Odaiba, or he just couldn't care enough to phone him and tell him that he was alright. Either way he was pissed off. He wanted to go back to that oblivious calm. He wanted to forget it all again until the solution showed itself to him. What he wanted most was to hear his precious music again.

There was no radio to turn on and relax too. There was no piano in the tiny apartment to play.

The only thing he remembered having was the dusty guitar that sat in the cupboard of his room. He hadn't had to part with it just yet.

Jogging into the room he skipped over the clothes and books that were strewn around his room to reach his cupboard. When he lost his balance he grabbed the handle in order to pull the door open as he stumbled back. The whole thing was a mess. Nothing but a built up pile of winter coats and old jeans that he had yet to organise. But at the very back, leant against the wall, was that old thick, black, leather case that held his trophy. The light from his room ricocheted off the sleek leather casing, giving it an almost ethereal glow that Yamato would gladly worship. With a diligent hand he reached for it and carefully placed it on his bed, tapping and brushing off the excess dust that fell from it. He sat cross legged on the bed beside it and unclipped the clasp to open it, reminiscing as he felt the cold metal.

When the lid was peeled back he laughed at the sight of all of his old trinkets that he had glued to the red linen inside of his case. There were a few band stickers and torn gig tickets that he'd collected a few years back, along with the most personal photographs that he had. There were a few of Takeru when he was much younger, clinging to his sacred older brother's shirt, giving a big cheesy grin to the camera as he was knee deep in mud, or playing around in the Christmas wrapping paper on their last Christmas as a proper family. There were a few of him and his gang of friends in high school in their special meeting place by the beach where they would drink themselves silly.

Then there was the small picture in the corner. The one with fingerprints all over it and the corners had been torn off. It was the only one that he had of him and Taichi together. They were on Sora's sofa, both with tired faces that told of a wild night before hand, with Taichi's arms wrapped around Yamato with his face tucked into his neck as they both laughed. Yamato stroked the inked faces with his thumb as he displayed a nostalgic smile.

With that one picture as his muse he reached for the acoustic guitar delicately, scared that it might break after all this time. Just from the look of it he could tell that the old girl was worn out and aged. The strings had thinned after vigorous playing and tuning. The fretboard still had some of those old chips in the edges that told of all the times he'd roughed up the poor thing. But, if anything touched him the most, it was the way she fit perfectly on his knee like always, as though he hadn't grown at all since the last time he'd held her. His smile brightened.

Why was he angry again?

It didn't matter.

He slid his fingers into a familiar chord and strummed, a little disturbed that the sound was so out of tune. Just like he used to do, he reached into the small pocket in the guitar case for his harmonica. He always used one instrument in order to tune the other.

It didn't take long to set the strings right, and she sounded just like she always used to; felt like she always used to. He started off by playing something easy that he remembered to get back into the swing of playing. It was just the simple chord sequence of a popular song he used to listen to. It was such a long time ago that the song was probably considered as 'lame' now. Not new enough to be cool, but not old enough to be vintage. Throughout the song he had fun with his music, improvising solos, changing the key, messing with the tension and volume. He felt like a closeted rock star once more. With a chuckle he finished the song and fell back onto the bed, taking his guitar with him and keeping his fingers in the place of the last chord. He would do this every day if he could. The thought was so pleasing to him that he couldn't help but think back to Tanaka Sensei's words.

"_If I had the youth and passion that you had then I would be putting it towards much greater things."_

Sitting up Yamato's expression came slightly serious. It was laughable to even think about considering such a far fetched proposal. The music business was tough. Only someone considered a musical genius could even get close to starting a career in that department, and even then using music for money was ow more dependant on looks and style rather than soul or substance. He'd get nowhere. But, on the other hand, he agreed completely with Tanaka Sensei. As much as he loved the kids he taught, he didn't want to keep playing the same songs over and over again in a school for the rest of his life. He wanted to challenge himself; start writing his own music, play songs that needed practice in order to master. As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted the approval of others as well. He wanted to know what it was like to be praised and have people want to listen to his music. But that didn't mean he wanted a stadium of people. He just wanted a small bar, with a few friendly faces to appreciate him. Money wasn't really an object anymore. He just wanted to do what he loved.

Already he was getting himself so pumped about this exciting new future that he didn't think that it needed any more consideration. That was it. That was what he wanted to do. It didn't matter if he was broke, living in a run down old apartment with his old man and living off of nothing but soup. And he knew the perfect place to start off.

He looked at the watch on his wrist that read nine o'clock. He'd been playing for hours without even realising it.

With the new found adrenaline and conviction he put the guitar back in the case and closed it in a rush. He just sprinted out the door with it in hand along with his car keys, not even thinking his plan all the way through. All he knew was that he didn't want to be scraping the bottom of the barrel for the rest of his life, and if he didn't do it now while he still had the courage, then he'd never do it.

* * *

In a state of absolute determination Yamato pushed open the cafdoor, making the bell above it cry out in shock. The place was still quite empty and a few customers even turned round to see him walk up to the counter with curious glances. One of his fellow employees came up to greet him.

"Yamato? Are you covering for someone tonight? You aren't normally-"

"I want to perform tonight. Are there any open slots?"

He interrupted with a scowl which took the poor boy by surprise. He hadn't noticed the guitar case on Yamato's shoulder until he'd said this.

"You can play?"

He asked in disbelief. No one had ever spoke of Yamato being a musical person.

"Yes, and I can play well. Are there any slots?"

"There's one at eleven, but are you going to be okay? You don't look great. Do you still feel sick?"

Yamato had forgotten about grooming himself before he'd left the apartment in a rush, so it was now that he remembered what a state he must have looked. Pasty skin from malnutrition, hair disarray and looking dimmer from the lack of product in it, and his work jacket was crumpled and loose from having it screwed up in his bag while he was teaching. Feeling self conscious he tried to smooth it out, thinking it would make a difference somehow.

"I'm fine. You don't mind me hanging round until then, do you?"

He didn't want to go back to his empty apartment and the answer machine that was blank.

"It's fine, there's an empty table over there. Take a seat and I'll get you some water."

?hanks."

The customers all watched as he stalked to the back table and leant his guitar against one of the chairs and using another for himself. He cradled his head in his hand, his foot twitching in anticipation to get on stage as well as nervousness. He'd never thought in his life that he would be vain enough to do this. When the glass of water was placed on the table he gave a courteous nod to the waiter and took a hearty gulp of the clear liquid. The cold drink slipped down his inflamed throat, cooling it momentarily. It was still early, so he had more than enough to prepare himself. He felt the stare of the people around him, making him all the more aware that he probably looked a mess. After all, he was still wearing his suit and tie which probably seemed a little conspicuous in such a laid back environment.

He took off his crumpled grey jacket and stuffed it into the pocket of his guitar case with his blue tie. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his not quite clean white shirt and unbuttoned his collar to look a bit more like a casual suit. He couldn't perform in his boxers, so he left his trousers as they were, with their dusty stains and torn belt loops.

When he looked towards the stage he saw amps and a microphone being set in place. The first performer was getting ready at the table in the front. It would be the first time that Yamato was able to watch the beginning performers and be able to pay proper attention without having to refill coffee cups or swap change behind the till. He was looking forward to see what he had to compare to.

* * *

It was dark and cold on the main road that the two young men ventured down. Daisuke pulled on Takeru's shoulder, trying to lead him away from the block of apartments that he was charging towards with deep determination. So far it had been as much luck as trying to pull a starving lion away from a fresh carcass.

"Come on, Takeru. This isn't cool. We've both got lectures tomorrow and we don't even know this guy. What if he's really shady?"

"You mean Shinji? He used to be one of Yamato's friends, so he probably isn't all that bad. And since he used to know Yamato that must mean that he has stuff that guarantees a good time tonight."

Daisuke easily caught on to the subliminal message that Takeru was trying to convey. This only made him that more apprehensive about going to this supposed 'gathering'. Even the building looked menacing in some ways; several street lamps were shot, bins had been upturned and a few of the cars parked outside had the windows smashed in. It didn't look like the kind of place he wanted to be in, especially if Takeru was intending on loosing his senses in alcohol and other such intoxicating things. But, this being one of his best friends, he loosened the hold on his shoulder and followed obediently.

"If this turns out wild then I'm getting out of here straight away, and I'm taking you with me."

"Relax a little. Even Taichi is going to be there. Me and him will look after you."

Daisuke bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything, but dying to tell Takeru that he wouldn't trust Taichi to be much help at a time like this. As the open door came into view he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and dug his hands into his pockets, wrapping his hand around his valuables in fear that he might be robbed or drop them and never see them again. Bouts of laughter were already echoing down the set of stairs and the heavy bass from a stereo. It practically shook the paper thin walls that he put his hand against as he climbed the stairs.

When the floor they wanted came into sight Takeru jogged up the last few stairs, hearing a familiar voice down the corridor.

"Oi, Taichi! That you up there?"

A thick head of hear peered around the door of the open apartment along with several other strangers' and a bright grin widened as his bloodshot eyes squinted to see Takeru approaching.

"Ah, its you! The little one!"

He slurred and balanced his beer bottle on the floor before stumbling past a few people towards them. Takeru was uncaring towards his filthy state and gave the man a hug anyway which was returned with drunken enthusiasm. When it was Daisuke's turn to be hugged he stiffened at the ripe smell of him, but still tried his best to wrap his arms around him. An arm was kept around his shoulder for balance.

"Daisuke, where're your goggles? I'm offended you don't wear 'em anymore. If I knew you weren't gonna wear 'em then I wouldn't have given 'em to ya'."

He laughed and ran a hand that was soaked with beer through Daisuke's dark hair, smiling brightly at Takeru who watched.

"You guys should come inside. Shinji's got a keg! It's so cool. I've already had like half of it, but there should be enough left for you guys. Especially you, 'cause we all know you hold your alcohol as good as a little girl."

He pointed Daisuke in the face he dodged in time to avoid having his nose prodded. Takeru was already smiling and heading inside on his own to get a start on the evening.

"I'll be there in a sec. I've just got to make a phone call."

"A'ite, you do that. I'm gonna try and get a drinkin' game started."

With an enthusiastic slap to the younger's back Taichi shouted out the name of someone that he saw at the door and chased in after them while Daisuke fished for his phone in his jacket pocket and began searching through his contacts. He could already hear Takeru's voice over the others from inside and realised with a sigh that the night wouldn't be one that he wanted to remember in the morning.

* * *

He hadn't even drank any coffee, and yet Yamato was buzzing and twitching in his seat, watching as the female performer sauntered off stage and back to her table. He was already thinking about backing out. Now that he was able to properly watch the performers, he had realised that there was absolutely no fucking way that he could compete with any of them. Most of them were much older with far more experience and with their own unique flair that Yamato knew he didn't have. Hell, he hadn't even practised and only just made his choice of what song he wanted to play. He'd just assumed that all would be well so long as he didn't drop the guitar or throw up on himself. But now, as he felt his foreboding doom swiftly approaching, it seemed like he was ten years too early to get up on that stage.

His friend who was helping to set up his act was pointing towards him and signalling to come on stage. Though the gesture was harmless enough, Yamato was picturing the man as a horned demon, signalling for him to drop into a pit of fire and nails.

"Aren't you going to go up?"

The waiter standing next to him asked, taking away the empty glass of water and putting it on his tray. Yamato, startled by the voice stood up and pushed back the chair.

"I...uh.."

He began, thinking up a quick excuse to dash out of there. There was no way he could do this, absolutely no way. These people would slaughter him. Halfway through the act they'd probably laugh and throw him in the back alley to kill him. He looked to the door with longing, thinking that he could probably just grab his guitar case and just sprint out of there. He could probably drive off before they even noticed that he was gone.

But, then again.

"Yeah, I'm going up."

Those were soon to be famous last words, he was sure of it. He shakily picked up the guitar next to him, finding it to be so much heavier than when he'd carried it in. He approached with caution as he watched the man on stage adjust the second microphone for his guitar and place the chair beside it. He spotted the wooden steps to the stage and repeated to himself over and over that he wouldn't trip on them. He needed to save as much of his remaining dignity as possible for when he ran out after the song.

Those three steps just didn't take long enough to climb, for soon enough he felt the bright lights on him, making him perspire more than he had been for the past hour or so. He set the case to the side of the stage and opened it slowly, savouring the time he had left. He took out the neck holder for his harmonica and adjusted it around his neck, now realising that after growing it fit much better around him and probably wouldn't slip like it used to do. He picked up his guitar by her neck and waltzed to the chair that sat on the front of the stage, looking at the small crowd with an expression of pure horror. He could hear the few people whispering among themselves, sipping their coffee loudly, clacking their shoes on the wooden floor, all the while staring him down like they would a piece of furniture at an auction.

When he sat down on the chair and placed the guitar on his knee he didn't know where to look. There were so many faces watching him, it felt awkward to focus on one. So he looked to his shoes and cleared his throat, hearing the noise echo on the speakers around the cafe. He couldn't tell if he liked or disliked the idea of the crowd being able to hear him so clearly.

Minding the way of the harmonica that was held to his lips with the brace he leaned in towards the microphone.

"H-Hi...uh...I'm Ishida Yamato and th-this song is 'Boots of Spanish Leather'. Um, please excuse my bad English accent."

He laughed, and a few people in the audience chuckled quietly along with him. At least some of them were friendly.

Even before he started playing he felt wary about his song choice, thinking that he could interrupt himself and change his mind in hopes to save himself. It would be difficult to keep up his intricate guitar playing while thinking over the meaning to the foreign lyrics. But the challenge would do him good. And if he miraculously managed to pull it off then he would give such immense praise to the entity that followed over him.

He adjusted the neck brace for the last time before moving his fingers into their starting positions. His heart was pounding and his lungs just couldn't seem to take in enough air, even when he'd started playing. He chose to keep his eyes on his fingers so that he could immerse himself in the music and turn his attention away from the interested faces of his onlookers.

With the pick slipping in his sweating hand he focused on playing at the right pace, strumming the right strings and moving his fingers around the different chords and decorations of the quiet backing melody. Closing his eyes against the harsh stage lighting he pursed his moist lips upon the cool metal of the harmonica and concentrated on his breathing. He moved away from the microphone to keep the wind instrument as a quiet accompaniment, blending softly with the pacing notes from the strings he plucked. He tried his best not to move as he usually did to the music, thinking that it would affect the volume. When he blew heavily on the final note of the introduction he leaned away from the microphone to soften it to fade out. Then he began to sing.

"_I'm sailing away, my own true love. I'm sailing away in the morning.  
Is there something I can send you from across the see,  
from the place that I'll be landing?"_

He could hear the dusty husk in his voice from the lack of practice, but that worked in his favour for such a song. He just kept his eyes closed and his lips pointing towards the microphone that he could sense was close in front of him. As the rough melody filled the cafe he felt his surroundings fade away into an empty universe where there was nothing there but him. His knees stopped shaking and he felt his wrists loosen to let the melody flow much easier.

"_Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night, and diamonds from the deepest ocean  
I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss  
For that's all I'm wishing to be owning."_

As the song went on he could hear his voice sounding more watery as the music overwhelmed him. The lyrics that spoke of a separated love, so sweet and sad. He felt an imaginary wind brush his warm, sweating cheeks, and an unreal ocean that lapped at his ankle in cold swipes, filling his battered shoes. The lights on his face became rays of a foreign sun and the chattering of the customers became the whistling cackle of seagulls overhead. He brought the harmonica to his lips before the last few verses and improvised notes and harmonies that he felt sounded right; notes that his soul told him to play. It felt just like he was messing around with his music in his room. His face serene and uncaring. He was no longer concerned about the microphone as he swayed with the melody.

"_I got a letter on a lonesome day. It was from her ship a-sailing  
Saying I don't know when I'll be coming back again  
It depends on how I'm feeling."_

The volume was rising and falling, whispering when the lyrics told him to, and letting his voice soar forth when his emotions took him.

"_So take heed, take heed of the western wind. Take heed of the stormy weather  
And yes, there's something you can send back to me  
Spanish boots of Spanish leather"_

His fingers loosened and the strums on the guitar strings became soft, easily mistaken for a sensual caresses across a lover's skin. He allowed himself to quietly hum the melody, letting out only the barest whisper of a note that smoothly echoed from the speakers. Then with a content sigh he plucked the last few notes and allowed them to linger before an intense silence that only added to the feeling of being isolated. That's why he almost jumped out of the chair when he heard the clapping of the audience. His startled blues opened wide, dilating after they were suddenly exposed to the stage lights. And when they adjusted he looked out to see the few people that sat at the table clapping with smiles on their faces.

He felt his heart flutter and he laughed away from the microphone. It was such a strange feeling that overtook him. He didn't know any of these people, and yet to see them smile was just seemed to be the greatest sight he could imagine. He had just bared his soul in the form of a simple cover song, and they not only accepted it, they liked it. With more confidence than he had the first time around Yamato began playing again, deciding on the spot what songs he wanted to play. He didn't dare play one of his own composed pieces just yet. One step at a time was a perfect pace for him.

Then when his last song ended the crowd cheered for the last time, with a bit more enthusiasm. Yamato's cheeks even shaded a darker pink when a few audience members whistled at him and knocked their shoes against the table legs. With a few bashful words of thanks he grinned brightly at the customers and walked back towards his open guitar case, feeling as though the experience was so serene. When the applause died down and the lights dimmed he went back to the empty table to the side of the cafe to watch the rest of the acts. Performing later on in the evening was the elderly saxophone player that he'd always wanted to approach, so now that he wasn't working he'd have the chance to. But as he relaxed into the chair he found himself to be the one being approached.

"Is this seat taken?"

A wavering voice asked in his ear, and he turned to see a creased face and a dusty tweed suit beside him. A worn palm was indicating to the chair beside him, and Yamato shook his head in a state of awe.

"N-No."

He stuttered, his smile only widening as the man pulled out the chair. His rickety knees slowly lowered him onto the seat, and with a responding smile he pulled the chair up to the table. With a tilted glance the elderly man looked at the supposed youthful musician before him, not noticing much about him from afar.

"You okay there, young man? You look a little pale."

He leaned forward a bit towards Yamato and folded his arms on the table. With rose tinged cheeks blaring out from his ashen face Yamato shook his head in embarrassment and smile.

"Oh, yeah I'm fine. I'm just a bit worn out. That really drained me."

"A young man like you? Where's all your youthful energy? I'm the one that should be worn out."

They both laughed quietly as they looked to see the next performer make their way to the stage. A frail young woman. The old man leaned in to Yamato to talk quietly in his ear when the cafsilenced in anticipation.

"Are you in a hurry to leave?"

Yamato shook his head again in looked around in interest. From close up he could see the plump, marred lips of the old man that he usually saw wrapped around a saxophone. They thinned into a smile at the answer.

"In that case, would you accept a cup of coffee from a senile old prune?"

"That sounds wonderful."

The man shakily held out his hand with a smile, which Yamato took in his own, feeling the soft yet contoured skin against the pads of his fingers.

"I'm Watanabe Shou."

He whispered as the woman on stage took her place in front of the microphone. His handshake was firm and certain.

"Ishida Yamato. Nice to meet you."

Turning away, the man signalled to the worker behind the counter to refill his coffee and bring over a second one for Yamato. Neither were paying attention when the mugs were brought over to them. Both the dimmed grey eyes of the old man, and the tired cerulean of the younger were held to the female violinist stood to the front of the wooden stage, in the same seat that Yamato had sat only moments before.

* * *

"-and then as we were driving up to Rome there was this man, not much older than myself, sitting on this cardboard box by the side of the road with all this junk laid out in front of him. And in that pile of toot, was an old brass saxophone, the one that I own to this very day."

"And this was two years ago?"

"Yep. And I haven't parted from the pretty little thing ever since."

Thin smoke drifted from between the split lips of Wanatabe Sou while Yamato downed the rest of his coffee with an awkward glance to the side. He was feeling a bit intimidated now by the elderly man. He'd only been playing music for two years, and yet he had the skill to outplay most record dealt artists out there. Yamato on the other hand had been playing since he was eleven and still struggled to be anything other than a mediocre musician. Lowering his mug to the table Yamato looked straight into the washed eyes of the other, ignoring the wall of smoke that passed across him from the cigarette that was held between dented fingers.

"I have to admit that I am scarily amazed. I almost find that unbelievable after hearing you play. You're so professional."

With a laugh he stubbed his cigarette into the marble ashtray on the table and leaned in with a smile.

"Well, being an unemployed bum like myself, I've done nothing but live for what I love. And for two years after I found that rusty old sax, I've loved nothing more.

Yamato inhaled his smoky breath without a care, hanging onto every word that passed his lips as though they each held the answers to all he wanted to hear. When he leant back into his chair Yamato's eyes followed him with interest.

"Now enough about me, young man. I've been flattered more than I should be. What about you? You don't normally perform here. What made you get up on stage?"

Feeling shy about the question Yamato looked down to his hands on the table that were playing with the handle of the smooth white coffee mug.

"I haven't had a chance to play for quite a while, and I wanted to get back into playing again. The music teacher at my work even convinced me to take it up performing as a full time job."

He laughed as though it were an absurd suggestion, and despite conquering his fear he still believed that it was. Nothing more than a silly notion from a man that was oblivious to the realities of the world. Across his vision a tanned limb reached out to him and placed a warm palm over his hands. When Yamato looked up, the face that greeted him was reassuring and warm; far to welcoming to belong to a near stranger. Wanatabe Shou whispered as though what he was telling him as a vitally important secret.

"Personally, I think you look more natural holding an instrument, than you do holding a tray of dirty dishes. Even though you were shaking like a leaf in storm season when you first started playing."

By the end of his sentence he was laughing throatily into his gently curled fist. The high smile on his face dug more lines into his cheeks that branched off and towards each other like branches of a tree. Yamato felt the laughter bubbling within him as well, only to regret it when the short spasm of his muscles agitated his stomach. Feeling the empty ache overwhelm him he clutched to his stomach with a wince, not noticing the concerned look coming from beside him.

"You alright, boy? You're not ill are you?"

"No, I'm really enjoying this. I just haven't been able to eat much recently and I'm out of energy."

He pushed out a laugh so to not dampen the light mood too much. But worrying over his new friend the old man lay a hand on his shoulder in attempts to soothe or console him.

"If you're low on money then I'm more than happy to buy-"

"No, no don't worry. It's probably just stress. I'm not unwell, but the thought of food makes me sick and I can hardly keep it down."

Yamato waved away the suggestion, hating to accept his charity even if it was aimed well. With a nod of understanding he tightened his hold on Yamato's shoulder for a moment.

"I'm sorry such a bad thing is happening. I can only say that I wish you well enough to perform here again. I'll be looking forward to it."

"I'll be looking forward to your performance as well."

Yamato smiled and loosened his arms that were tightly pressed against his stomach. Then with a weary sigh he leant back into the wooden chair, allowing himself to relax beneath the comforting hand on his shoulder. Understanding Yamato's needs somehow the man left his hand there, thinking that the small amount of contact would comfort him in some way, which it did.

* * *

When he came home it was pitch black; a sign that his father had yet to come home. He didn't mind though. He was satisfied enough to have had a peaceful evening to himself after so long. No one to drag to bed, no one to pick up or drop off, no one's vomit to clean up or anything. That is until he saw the blinking red numbers on his answering machine.

Six messages.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to listen to them, knowing that his calm and quite evening would be jeopardised by someone who'd left that many messages. He ignored it at first, choosing to enjoy his personal time alone for as long as he could. He took his guitar case and work bag to his room and organised the creased papers into their folders, all the while sparing a few glances to the phone in the living room, feeling his curiosity flare. When he turned on the television he didn't pay attention to what was on, he just kept his eye on the little red light that taunted him. What harm would it do to just listen to them? He didn't necessarily have to reply to them or anything. He finalised his decision by pressing the button on the phone, the robotic voice ringing out over the sound of the television.

"YOU HAVE SIX MESSAGES. MESSAGE ONE, RECEIVED AT TWELVE THIRTEEN AM."

"Daisuke here. Just so you know, Taichi's out with me and Takeru tonight. Uh, he seems kinda out of it, just to warn you, so we're going to keep an eye on him, 'kay? So, talk to you later, no need to call me back or anything. Bye."

"MESSAGE TWO, RECEIVED AT ONE THIRTY AM."

"It's Daisuke. Taichi's acting really fucking weird and...I dunno if something happened or not between you, but he's freaking me out. Call me back if you get this, he might need to be taken home. Sorry about this. Okay, bye."

"MESSAGE THREE, RECEIVED AT TWO FIFTEEN AM."

"It's me, it's about two am. now, and you should probably get down here. Taichi's fucked and I don't know if I can keep tabs on him right now. He keeps shouting and he drank a lot and...we're at Shinji's place. It's the apartment block near the station, apartment fourteen. I think you should come down here and get him, or at least help us try and sober him up. We're all fucking scared of him right now. Please call me back."

"MESSAGE FOUR, RECEIVED AT-"

Yamato cut off the machine before the message could even play. He could guess who they were from or at least what they concerned. As much as he wanted to ignore Daisuke's plight he knew that it was too serious to avoid doing so. He dialled the number that he remembered and felt his hands shake as he listened to the dial tone. When the other person answered his call he didn't hear a voice. Instead he cringed at the sound of blaring music, rowdy party goers and a few quiet sobs. From hearing that he already began collecting his things to leave.

"Daisuke? What's going on down there? Where's Taichi?"

He heard another sob and then a deep intake of breath.

"Oh thank fuck. Yamato, it's a mess. More guys showed up and I think half of them are just fucking junkies off the street, but we can't get them to leave. I've lost Takeru and no one's sober enough to tell me where he is, and Taichi's gone too. I don't know if he left the apartment or something but he was yelling all this shit about you and Takeru and he just flipped out and-"

"Calm down. I'm on my way now. Just give me fifteen minutes to get up there."

"I'll wait by the stairs to meet you. Thank you so much. "

Yamato nodded, too preoccupied to realise that Daisuke couldn't see his act of confirmation. He hung up before anything else could be said and grabbed his car keys from the table. Without bothering to do up his laces he slipped on his shoes and dashed out of the apartment.

* * *

Before he had even pulled up to the apartment block Yamato could hear the heavy music and screaming from inside. But when he actually saw what was going on he felt too intimidated to leave his car. There were quite a few shady looking men congregated around the entrance, each with a bottle and a cigarette in their hands. The street lights loomed over them and created demonic shadows around them. Two or three of them he recognised from his earlier days of partying. The rest of them looked about ready to start a fight with whoever approached them.

Deciding to get it over with he turned off the engine to his car and opened the door. He realised that he should've parked further away from the building than he had. A beautiful car like his was probably at risk of being stolen or vandalised and he felt the difficulty of having to part with it. He would have kissed it goodbye if not for the looming figures that began to approach him.

"Hey look, it's Yami! Where've you been? We missed you."

He ignored the slurring voice of the man from his past and pushed by him towards the entrance, saving himself from the foul alcoholic breath of the larger man.

"Ah, Yami, where you goin'?"

The drunkard called and watched as Yamato waded his way through another crowd of people in order to get up the stairs. The closer he got to the apartment the more people there seemed to be. Large groups blocked his way up the stairs and down corridors and a few times he even felt a few hands attempt to pull or push him back. It was the worst when he reached the third floor. There wasn't enough space to breath, and even if he did he'd inhale nothing but alcoholic fumes and smoke from laced cigarettes.

"Daisuke!"

He called out and used the shoulders of strangers for leverage so that he could see what was going on. Slumped outside the door of the crowded apartment was a burgundy haired man with his hands clutched to his head and accompanied by a few empty beer cans and a lot of burnt out cigarette stubs. As soon as he heard the heavenly voice of the older he clawed at the wall in order to pull himself up pitifully.

"Yamato!"

He called and watched as the blonde head sailed through the sea of others and approached him. He was so happy that he would have rushed to greet him, but he knew that as soon as he moved away from the wall he would either vomit all over him or fall on top of him. When Yamato finally approached Daisuke felt himself drunkenly slumping forward into the man's chest.

"'mato. I think I'm drunk."

He slurred into his shoulder and Yamato gently guided him back to the wall to have him sit down. Reaching into his small bag Yamato pulled out a bottle of water that he hadn't expected would be so useful to him.

"Drink this and sit down. Where did you last see Takeru?"

He shouted over the pounding music and rubbed Daisuke's muscled shoulder as he tried several times to guide the mouth of the bottle to his lips. His perception had been warped considerably after all of the alcohol. Water spilt past his lips and down his neck.

"He was inside, but I dunno if he left and it's too crowded to see him in there. Those new guys are fuckin' thugs, 'mato."

After giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder Yamato stood up to once again survey the surroundings. The apartment was so thick with smoke that it covered the huddled figures like a thick fog. It was no wonder Takeru got lost in there, and the thought that he wouldn't be able to find his way out made him very anxious.

"Okay. I'm going to go look for them. Just sit here, I'll take you home, okay?"

"Thank you. M'sorry."

After tugging onto his trouser leg as an appreciative gesture Daisuke watched as Yamato dived into the foggy crowd with his hands firmly clutching his bag to his chest. Just inhaling the second hand smoke made Yamato dizzy and feel the synthetic stimulation haze his senses. It even seemed that most people he pushed past were purposely turning to him in order to blow the smog into his face. The place was packed to the point of being comparable with sardines in a tin. There was no shoulder that was free from being pressed against another. Trying to manoeuvre through the people was as difficult as trying to wade through sand. When he pushed someone they wouldn't move, but simply fall back into place and obstruct his path once more. Just when the living area came to sight over the top of people's heads, Yamato found himself wrapped in a strangers arms with his back pressed against a foreign chest.

"Oi, blondie, who'd you come with?"

The man was ripe with the smell of sweat, smoke and beer, and his stubbled chin was forcibly pressed against Yamato's shoulder despite the struggle he gave. With the man considerably weakened with alcohol consumption, Yamato was able to pry himself free and turned to face the stranger. He was met with bloodshot eyes, a raw nose and a crooked smile. He ignored the fact that the guy was leaning closer with each second and placed a hand on his shoulder so to keep him a safe distance away from him.

"Have you seen my brother? A short blonde kid, blue eyes. Looks a lot like me."

When he enquired the man put a hand on his chin, jokingly pretending to think, and Yamato realised that it was pointless asking him. He didn't wait for an answer and turned away to leave only to be pulled back by two firm hands on his hips. The man's breath was disgustingly hot and moist as he whispered into his ear.

"I may have. How about we discuss this further over a few shots in the back room."

Yamato would have politely declined and walk away, sensible enough to avoid a drunken fight. But when the rough hands began to reach under his shirt and grope his chest he found his sensible thought left him to fend for himself. The unfamiliar fingers pressed into his chest, pulling him back once more, and Yamato dug his elbow into the surface behind him.

"Keep your hands to yourself!"

He cried and twisted the wrist of the hand that dare to touch him as he pulled it out from beneath his clothes. The man was too drunk to feel the pain of his wrist and merely chuckled at the fuming blonde he was wrapped around.

"Whoa, save the violence for the bedroom."

"Save you're dirty talk for someone who gives a shit!"

With a final slap to the perverts head Yamato continued to the sofa where he saw a very familiar face.

"Shinji!"

The redhead was splayed across the sofa with a few women with a thickly stuffed cigarette in his hand. When he caught sight of Yamato trying to get through to him he stood up to help pull him through the barrier of people surrounding him. He put his cigarette on top of an empty beer can.

"Yamato!"

He called with a delirious grin and pulled Yamato forward with a hold on his forearm. He was already leading him back to the sofa as he greeted him.

"My God, Yami, it's been fucking ages. Here, come sit and do a line with me, we need to hang out."

While Yamato was trying to break his arm free Shinji used his other shaking hand to reach into his pocket and pull out a half empty bag of white powder. When the women on the sofa spotted it they all began to giggle and crawl closer to where he stood, fondling his jacket in a pleading manner.

"No, thanks. Where's Takeru? Is he still here?"

When Shinji let go of Yamato's arm he picked up his cigarette and took a draw, leaning back on the arm of the sofa. He handed the small bag to the woman next to him and she took with a dazed smile, helping herself instantly she began to set it up on the coffee table in front of them. Shinji inhaled the drug fumes from his cigarette deeply and made sure not to blow it in Yamato's face like everyone else had done. He handed it to Yamato while he spoke.

"He's in the bedroom with Taichi. I reckon those two must have just passed out on the bed or something, 'coz they were out of their fuckin' minds. Takeru only did a few keys, so he should be fine. But Taichi, God, you should check if he's still breathin' after that episode."

He laughed despite the slightly serious tone in his voice which was noticed easily. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the atmosphere Yamato didn't realise that he had automatically raised the cigarette to his mouth until he felt the butt brush against his lips. Without a second thought to it he took a quick draw and handed the lit wad of paper back to Shinji. From just a lungful of smoke he could feel the drug dampen his consciousness and it felt as though his brain had been submerged in warm water, dulling all thought and softening his senses.

"I'm going to find them."

He informed and looked around to find the easiest route to the bedroom now with slight disorientation. He could see the closed door that his brother and lover were apparently behind, but it looked like he'd have to struggle to get to it. So he hiked his bag further onto his shoulder and began to make his way around all of the empty bottles and cans on the floor as well as the people that refused to move out of his way. He knocked on the bedroom door with a solid fist, loud enough to be heard over the pounding bass of the music.

"Takeru! Taichi! You in there?"

With no reply he reached for the door handle, hoping to God that Shinji wasn't wrong and that he'd end up walking in on some stranger having sex. Getting it over with he swung the door open quickly and held his breath. The room was in complete darkness with only the light from the corridor behind him as a way to see. He moved further into the room to allow more light in, and his sight began to adjust to the darkness. He saw the outline of the curtain drawn window, the chest of draws, the bed with its sheets tossed to the floor, and two collapsed bodies on top of it. The blonde head of hair and the pale skin was illuminated on the pillow, a dead give away that it was Takeru. His pale, naked legs were thrown over the tanned hips of the other naked body in the bed and Yamato almost collapsed to the floor in shock.

The smell of sex was heavy in the dim room and with the new light he could see the damp remains of intercourse on the bed and on the flushed skin of the naked men before him. In his mind he was screaming curse after God hating curse, while in reality nothing but a terrified squeak passed his dry lips. He covered his mouth at the noise, startling himself at how pathetic he was acting. He watched as the smaller of the two released a grown and rolled away from the naked body next to him. At the very least Yamato was glad to see that his little brother was still alive. He saw both of their clothes scattered across the floor and reached down to pick up Takeru's jeans, but not before feeling the pack of cigarettes in the pocket and dropping them in the bin.

People behind him in the living room began to drunkenly push against him and try and look over his shoulder to see what was going on. In desperation to keep it private he shoved a few bodies back and closed the door, containing himself in the room with the nightmare behind him. Even though he wasn't facing the bed the sight was still in his mind, painted on the door in front of him, tattooed on his hands, stitched into the denim of his jeans. There were so man different scenarios that ran through his head on how such a situation came to be. But only one stuck in his head as the answer.

His poor little, heterosexual brother, who was dating his sex partner's sister no less. He couldn't blame Takeru though. He was his innocent flesh and blood, new to the world of alcohol and drugs when he'd turned a legal age. But Taichi was a fiend.

Feeling anger overpower remorse he slammed on the light switch next to him, hearing Takeru mumble again at the bright intrusion. Taichi hadn't even moved. Yamato watched his brother try to duck under the pillow beneath him as he gathered what little of his siblings clothes that he could find. His shoes weren't there, his boxers weren't found either, but he'd managed to find his top and jeans. Both were muddy, torn, and smelt of sweat and smoke. It was a sickly combination that made him want to vomit on top of the bodily scent of the room after the animalistic activity. Finally approaching the bed he pulled the pillow away that covered his brother's face.

"Takeru, get up. Now."

His voice was horrifically stoic, like the seething command of a demon wanting blood. But his face was blank, not even a twitch of his brow gave him away, not that Takeru even noticed. He just heard the command and complied in complete weak submission. He kept his eyes closed as he sat up and rubbed his sore head. All the while Yamato was pulling the shirt over his head and guiding his arms into the correct place to fit it on properly. Every time Takeru slumped backwards his brother would jerk him forward and continue his task. He ignored the fluids on the boy's body and the sight of his raw, spent genitals and pulled on the jeans, using the bedsheets on the floor to wipe clean what was left on his stomach. He'd numbed himself to the thought of what caused all this, only seeing an angry red whenever his thoughts strayed from the task at hand. He felt himself grip his brother's arm much tighter than he'd ever done before, and pulling him to stand was a gesture that was equally as violent. When Takeru leant into his chest for support he didn't feel the usual content of being connected with his brother, but instead he stiffened his body freezing completely and his shoulders tensing to hunch into his neck. He slowly pushed the boy away with a grip on his forearms.

"Where are your shoes?"

Takeru mumbled and shook his head, trying to get closer to the warmth of his brother's body. He was so tired. It felt like he was seeing the world through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. When he dropped his head to his feet it looked like his legs reached miles below him and he felt his balance waver.

Yamato turned Takeru away from him when he felt him begin to wobble and he pushed from behind to lead him out the door. That is, until he reached for the door handle he turned back to the bed, seeing a nude Taichi, as unmoving as he had been when he entered the room. With the rage that he felt he secretly hoped that the bastard was dead, knowing that later he would feel horribly guilty for wishing that upon anyone. He knew Shinji wouldn't want to find a dead body in his room the next morning.

He leant Takeru's back against the wall and watched him slump against it as he walked to the bed. As he approached the body he began to hear the quiet whistle of steady breathing. He was alive. He stood beside the body, seeing a subtle rise and drop of the tanned chest. From the sounds of it his breathing was steady. He began to feel nauseous when he forced himself to check his heartbeat. Taichi's chest was cold and slick with sweat with evident bruising from someone's teeth marking his collarbone. When his hand reached the left side of his chest he felt the heavy thrum of a heartbeat. It was racing. Possibly from 'strenuous activity' or from the drugs he'd probably taken shortly before. Just to be sure he peeled back Taichi's eyelids and from what little that he cold see both pupils contracted regularly, showing that he would probably wake up soon. Finally he rested a hand against his sweaty forehead, peeling back the moist hairs that stuck to it so that he could get an accurate reading. It felt a little warm, but not enough to be concerned about. The bastard would live to see the next day. When he peeled his hand away he could feel the remains of the wet skin across his palm. In disgust he wiped it on his jeans and groaned in distaste.

He looked to see that Takeru had slid to the floor and closed his eyes again, falling asleep. With the way the situation was progressing he'd have to carry his brother to the car, something that he had nowhere near enough energy to do successfully. Not to mention he'd have to help a drunk Daisuke downstairs as well, and push his way through the stiff crowd. It all seemed impossible. He could feel his back aching from the thought of didn't notice Taichi squirming beside him, the begging of consciousness disturbing his calmed high. It wasn't until a tired and limp hand brushed against his own that he looked down. The man didn't notice or didn't care about the exposure of his body, using one hand to shield his eyes from the hanging light and the other was stretched out in search.

"Yama? Where are you?"

He croaked with a pitiful whine and curled into himself, still outstretching his shaking hand in search for Yamato's. But the blonde took a step back, avoiding an unnecessary contact completely. He could feel his features finally cringing with overwhelming emotion that he'd tried to push back. His eyes began to swell and sting and he could feel hot puffs of breath shooting from his nostrils in short bursts, like a bull rearing to charge. When Taichi began to push up on his elbows he felt his body acting in stead for his absent mind. He used the step back that he had taken to propel himself forward, his fist clenched and raised to his jaw. With a swing of as much forced he could handle he hit a chiselled cheekbone, sending the man back down to the mattress cupping his face. Taichi had probably reared back out of shock rather than pain. Yamato was far too tired to inflict any pain that Taichi wouldn't be able to handle.

"What the _fuck_? Ugh."

Yamato stormed away in a sulk and grabbed Takeru's shoulder, pulling him up from the floor violently, hearing his teeth rattle together from the harsh movement. When he swung open the door there was a group of people standing right in the doorway, staring at him with lazy eyes.

"Get the fuck out of the way!"

He growled and pushed the first shoulder he felt, dragging Takeru along behind him. This time when he made his way through the crowd people actually moved back to let him pass, seeing the rage radiating off of him like an ominous glow. He could see Shinji on the sofa scramble up after hearing his force, but with a hateful glare from Yamato he sat back down and only watched as Yamato left the apartment. Now that Takeru was coming to his senses he was returning to his usual difficulties. Every time Yamato pulled him forward Takeru would move back. When someone knocked Yamato back into Takeru, he would push him back with enough force to throw him. With every pull and push he found his anger growing enough to almost take it out on his brother. But he would never get far enough to actually carry out his urges.

Daisuke was still sat on the floor outside of the apartment, the half finished water bottle pressed to his chest like it were his security blanket; or maybe he was just using it to distract himself so not to vomit. Yamato reached his hand out to him wordlessly and the drunken male took it gratefully, using him as support to help himself stand. Neither of them spoke when Yamato led the two younger men down the stairs, his arm hooked around Takeru's tensed shoulders and his other hand holding Daisuke's behind him. But when they reached the bottom of the stairs and the music died down as they created distance Daisuke only just realised with his hazy mind that someone was missing.

"Yamato, did you see Taichi in there? I'm worried. I think-"

"Taichi's fine."

He interrupted with a firm tone that told Daisuke not to involve himself an further in the matter. He could secretly guess what might have happened, after so many times of seeing it for himself, but that didn't make him any less upset about it. Simply because he thought that he would only make it worse by trying to pry, Daisuke nodded in revered silence and followed him to the car.

Yamato was too distracted to be grateful that his car was unharmed. If anything when he jammed his key in the lock and ripped open the door it would look like he was the one that was trying to vandalise it. Takeru was laid across the back seat of the car, the seat belt only winding around his chest to keep him in place, and Daisuke took the passenger side seat, noticing the solid face of the older male behind the steering wheel.

"Where do you guys need dropping off? The dorms? Or do you want to go home?"

He put the key in the ignition almost forcefully snapping it and revved the engine. Daisuke rubbed his temple and leaned into the window as he replied.

"I don't know if I can go home like this, and I don't know if they'll let us into the dorms either."

"You two can just crash at mine then. My Dad probably won't be home so there's a bed for both of you."

"What 'bout you?"

"I've got to get up for work in a few hours anyway. I'll just have a nap on the sofa."

Nothing but the engine and Takeru's light snoring was heard for a while between them. Daisuke wiped the sweat from his forehead onto the glass of the car window as he lazily turned his head to look at Yamato. His watery eyes didn't show pity. Instead they seemed to show what Yamato should be feeling himself, if he weren't so numb.

"I'm sorry."

Daisuke's gentle voice spoke more than his words. His apology was much deeper than the rest of the conversation made it out to be. It wasn't just for that reason and wasn't just for himself either. And Yamato was grateful for it. For Daisuke's sake he relaxed his shoulders that little bit and loosened his deathly grip on the leather steering wheel, knowing that by just loosening his posture he could make the atmosphere less tense that it was. He didn't take his eyes off the road and reached his arm out for Daisuke, brushing his shoulder as some kind of reassurance.

"Don't be sorry."

He whispered, and saw to make the gesture seem less awkward he ran the same hand through his hair, holding back from digging his nails into his skull just so he could feel something. He wanted to awaken the rage that had died down, to cry and scream. Not even his foot on the gas pedal gave away the tenseness that he thought he felt. They still travelled at a slow and calm pace back to the empty apartment that he knew was waiting for them.

* * *

Daisuke held the door open while Yamato dragged an uncooperative Takeru into the apartment with the arm hooked around his neck. The exhausted smell coming from the younger man was making Yamato feel nauseous, but he wouldn't let that get in the way of taking the best care of his younger brother. He mumbled a thank you as Daisuke closed the door behind him and hauled Takeru higher onto his shoulder, dropping his bag by the door along with the shoe rack. He toed off his own shoes and Daisuke did the same before heading inside.

"My Dad's room is just opposite the bathroom. You can sleep there."

He told the darker haired man an began to drag his way to his room to drop Takeru onto the bed. He didn't bother to turn on the bedroom light and had to guess his way around the mess in his quarters.

"Thanks, Yamato."

Daisuke called in a weak hum and retired to the king sized bed that he would have all to himself. Meanwhile, Yamato was busy throwing Takeru's top half onto the bed with his lifeless legs dangling over the side for him to haul into position. The pillow was moved to accommodate Takeru's dead sleep with the sweat and grease in his hair contrasting with the clean white pillow he lay on. Yamato debated changing Takeru into his boxers at least, only to remember that beneath his jeans lay nothing but a naked mess which his more than reluctant to have wiped onto his bed. So he just left the clothes on, considering it to be a part of Takeru's punishment for now.

After turning on the kettle to make a cup of coffee, Yamato sat at the table in thought of the evening, wishing that he didn't have to resort to such a thing. But the silence of the apartment was tempting him to do so when there was nothing to distract him.

Propping his elbows onto the table he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes feeling the satisfying pressure wake him up that little bit, and as the sight of black behind his eyelids began to swirl the image began to take form once again. Naked bodies pressed into the mattress, bared to all that looked on without shame. A thick, tanned arm was looped around a pale waist, like a tainted streak across his once innocent skin. A shiver of disgust rattled through Yamato and he didn't realise that he'd been biting on his tongue until he felt the coppery burn of blood seeping from an arch of puncture marks.

He felt so many different emotions about what he'd just witnessed. But what worried him was how different he felt to how he expected he'd feel. While he'd been cleaning his brother and checking over Taichi he hadn't really felt anything. He'd expected it all to hit him once he'd gotten out of their. He expected the same horrible pain that he always did when Taichi upset him. On the drive home it had all begun to hit him.

He felt scared for the sake of his innocent younger brother and how he would be affected.

He felt betrayed by Taichi for using Takeru in the way that he did.

He even felt angry at himself for not putting a stop to it sooner.

But, for some reason. He didn't feel sad.

For the first time in a long time he wasn't upset that Taichi had slept with someone else. The only thing that had affected him was that it was his brother that he slept with, and he was only upset for Takeru's sake; not Taichi's and not his own either.

Perhaps that was the sign that he had needed all along. Something that told him that whatever they had together, had ended a long time ago. All the cheating, the stealing and the lies had pushed him away to the point that he'd already gotten over Taichi before they'd actually broken up. He'd been dealt with soft blows so that he would be strong enough to handle the finishing blow at the end.

It was understandable to feel that way. For so long he'd been holding onto the memory of what Taichi had been in order to stop himself from feeling trapped and alone. When he told Taichi _'I love you_' he was telling it to the Taichi from five years ago. The man that would visit him at work just so that he could stare lovingly at him. The man that would pay for the romantic meal, or at least show up for the romantic meal. The man that would hold him in his arms without needing a reason to do so. The old Taichi wouldn't ask for anything in return but to be loved. Because Yamato had always thought that the old Taichi should be repaid for his kindness he had spoilt him when he asked for things. That was where it went wrong.

Hearing the kettle whistle he got up to pour the first cup of coffee. The bitter broth somewhat satisfied part of his craving for food. Not enough to quieten the growl of hunger, but enough to make him feel like he wasn't completely empty inside. Now he was filled with a settling heat that spread around the rest of his body. It was the same feeling he'd felt at the cafbeing filled with nothing but an empty warmth from several cups of coffee and hearing the sweet ramblings of an old musician.

It was strange for Yamato to have such respect for that old man, when in actuality he had done nothing but what he wanted for his whole life. He didn't do anything particularly great. He just lived how he wanted. In some ways that even sounded like a selfish way of living; not caring about any priorities or responsibilities and just abandoning them when he saw fit to make a change. And yet, despite to think about it in that light, Yamato still felt nothing but pure envy. To be able to say _'Fuck you'_ and walk away was something that he remembered being able to do when he was young. He didn't take shit from anyone, least of all Taichi or his father. They'd get a mouthful of his fist before they were ever able to order him around.

He would have laughed if someone ever told him that he'd end up working as a lowlife cafwaiter and still have to live with his father at the ripe age of twenty three.

Yamato put the mug of coffee on the counter when he realised that his hands were shaking. In fact, the rest of him was shaking just as badly. He could hear the rattle of scarily visible bones. Holding to his forearms in hoping to stifle the shudders he could feel that the biceps he had worked so hard to build up had already thinned. With his back pressed against the kitchen counter behind him he felt himself sliding down the thick surface until his tail bone hit the floor, leaving him slumped across the grime caked kitchen tiles. With an ironic smile he hit his head against the surface behind him and closed his eyes.

* * *

He could hear a muffled voice outside the reach of his jaded senses and a warm hand pulling him up, but he couldn't register what was going on. Why did his bed feel so uncomfortable, and what had happened for someone to wake him in such a gentle manner?

"Yamato. What happened? Are you okay?"

A deep voice echoed in sensitive ears and Yamato found himself wobbling as he attempted to stand with the help of firm hands

"Huh? What-"

He whimpered and leant against the sharp edge of the surface behind him and pulled at his eyelids to open them. He mostly saw grey blurs before him, swirling together to create a hazy stream of colours, all except for a visible bush of burgundy hair right in front of his face. Feeling the cold surface that he supported himself against he could tell that it was the granite counter of the kitchen, and the cold pattern of the kitchen tiles beneath his feet supported this discovery. Then, when his vision finally came into focus, he saw that he was definitely in the kitchen and beneath him was the floor that he had fallen asleep on the night before.

"Ah shit."

He cursed, vaguely recalling the sudden darkness that had interrupted him while in thought, what seemed only a little while ago.

"Yamato, what happened? Are you okay?"

Daisuke's voice reached out, accompanied by a muffled yet no less piercing ringing in his ears. He coughed into his wrist and leant further back into the counter, feeling his tired legs giving way.

"I must've just...fallen asleep here...what's the time?"

"It's eleven."

He was late for work. He pushed off the counter in a panic.

"Ah fuck, fu-"

He broke off a second swear after his vision went momentarily black. His body had just shut down for a second, and he felt himself falling. When he reached his knees two strong hands grabbed beneath his arms to stop him from hurting his head on the tiles.

"Whoa, Yamato!"

"I'm fine. Just, hand me the phone would you? 'Gotta call work."

His croaky reply didn't convince Daisuke at all. With the strength that he could muster, despite his hangover, he lifted the trembling body of Yamato to the dining chair to sit him down, and as soon as he was seated the pale hands gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from dropping forward. Daisuke disappeared and rushed back with the cordless phone in his hand. When it was giving to Yamato he flinched beneath its weight, as though he were holding a brick. Daisuke merely observed Yamato's sickly features as he dialled the number and told the receptionist that he was too ill to come into work and that he was very sorry. His reluctance was visible. He obviously hated to miss a day of work. But in the condition that he was in he would only be a hindrance if he went.

"I don't think Takeru should go to any lectures today."

Daisuke muttered after hanging up the phone. He was glancing at the entrance to Yamato's room which was scarily silent as the boy slept deeply.

"Mmm, me too. Do you need a ride home or anything?"

"No, Jun is going to pick me up soon."

With a nod Yamato began to stand back up.

"Do you want breakfast? We don't have much, though."

A firm thump on his shoulder pushed him back into his chair, and he looked to see Daisuke with a nervous smile leaning over him.

"Ah, it's okay. I'll make it."

He laughed and randomly opened a few cupboards to find something edible in Yamato's kitchen. A mission that wasn't very successful, and at every opportunity that arose he would spare a glance to the tired, thin man that held his head in his hands. It didn't look like would be able to get up even if he wanted to on the pins that hung limply from his hips over the chair.

* * *

The apartment was quiet once more after a failed attempt of breakfast. Daisuke had ran out to catch his last lecture when Jun picked him up and his Dad hadn't come home yet, which he was surprisingly thankful for. Jun hadn't even tried to flirt with him like usual after seeing his tired state. With no work he needed a bit of rest to work up enough energy to deal with his rebellious younger brother. Though it wasn't his job to educate him he still felt it necessary to do so.

Yamato tossed in his sleep as he heard the movement in the apartment. The padded footsteps of bare feet across the living room floor. The jerky roughly of denim jeans being adjusted. The hesitant jingle of spare change of keys being moved about. The movements were fr to diligent to belong to his father, so there was only one other person it could be.

He sat up swiftly from his sleeping place on the sofa, ignoring the rush of blood to his head, and turned to see Takeru putting on a pair of Yamato's converses and wearing his clothes. They fit him perfectly apart from the fact that the jeans he wore sagged at the ankles due to his shorter legs. He was obviously attempting to escape without being noticed. That was not something that Yamato was going to allow. He loved his brother, but love could also come in the form of punishment.

"Oi! Where do you think you're going?"

He called to Takeru who was still tying his laces, but as soon as he heard the voice of his brother he jumped up. The look on his face could be described as nothing less than pure terror. His teeth were bared and his eyes flashed at the sight of Yamato standing up to approach him. Picking up the pile of keys and change beside him Takeru jammed it all into his pocket and set himself into action, avoiding tripping over his undone shoelace. He dived at the apartment door.

"Takeru!"

Yamato roared seeing that his brother was trying to flee and was completely prepared to chase after him. He sprung up onto the balls of his bare feet and climbed over the back of the sofa, gripping at the corduroy with his hands set like claws to stop him from falling. The door had been wrenched open and the younger blonde was already sprinting in a wavy line towards the stairs as his hangover got the best of him. Over the jingling of his full pockets he could hear his older sibling's thudding footsteps hunting him down. He could hear that the other's footing was just as ungraceful as his own, a sign that told him that he might actually be able to successfully escape for the first time. He'd ever been able to outrun his older brother until today. When he reached the stairs he took the opportunity to create a larger distance. He held to the metal railings and leapt to the lower side of the winding staircase, feeling his knees almost break beneath him from the shock of his landing. Then without looking up to see Yamato at the top of the stairs he kept leaping over groups of stairs to get to the bottom.

In comparison to Takeru, Yamato looked at the stairs and saw less of an opportunity and more of a disadvantage. He didn't have the strength to do the same as Takeru. If he attempted to jump he'd probably break his neck when his knees rolled from beneath him. On the other hand, standing there was just allowing Takeru to get away. A pale hand took a firm grip on the winding metal by the stairs. As he jumped down the hand slid down the metal as his body moved, losing the control that he had over his jump. His foot nicked the bottom of the set of stairs and with a shout he was falling in the opposite direction that he wanted, his back falling against the stairs. He managed to prevent a severe injury by using his elbows to absorb most of the impact. But his loose neck forced his head backwards and it just about hit the top step before he pulled it back. For the second that his head felt numb after the impact he prayed that the injury wasn't too bad. Moments later the pain began to grow, like vines winding about his skull as the plant thrived and engulfed him. It was too much to even curse at. He just curled against the metal banisters and gripped the back of his head, hoping that pressure would relieve the pain. It was so overpowering that he could even feel his fingers tingle as the rest of his body numbed to make the pain that bit more intense.

"Takeru!"

He called in agony with a half sob. He was still gritting his teeth in anger, but the anger was slowly wearing down as the pain and fear overtook him at the thought of needing to go to hospital. He diligently crawled around on the stairs so to see where he'd head his head, only gasp in relief when he didn't see that he'd shed an blood. It faintly shocked him that there could be so much pain without the skin being broken, but he didn't dwell on it enough to hesitate. The sound of Takeru's leaps down the stairs hadn't ceased and he was no too far for Yamato to catch up to. Keeping his eyes shut tightly he sat up and tucked his head between his knees, feeling a spell of dizziness settle in the front of his mind.

"T-Takeru, I'm fucking serious! Get back here!"

He practically screamed and lifted his head to look down the set of stairs to search for the top of Takeru's head. The blonde mop was already on the last set of stairs towards the car park, ignoring his brother's cries for help and dashing out the door regretfully.

With a half repressed growl Yamato slammed his tight, bloodless fist into the step that he sat on, feeling the markings on it become engraved into the side of his palm from the force of the impact. The rattle of abused metal echoed down the now empty staircase to ring in his aching head.

"Mister Ishida, would you please keep it down!"

The old woman from the apartment next door nagged from her front door with her patched apron loose across the front of her. Yamato didn't even look back to her. He just sagged hid shoulders and waved her away, not caring that he was being rude. In an apartment a bit further down a young couple had opened the door without removing the chain to catch a glimpse of the drama that was happening in their building, while their dog barked at them. So much noise was only aggravating him further. If that dog didn't shut up and if that woman didn't go away then he'd end up doing something very out of character that he knew he'd regret.

With a claw gripping to the handrail he pulled himself into a hunched standing, keeping bent so not to jostle his head or release the vomit that he felt already building up in the top of his chest. He slammed the door once he felt the wooden floor of his apartment entrance and rushed to the window that overlooked the street to catch a glimpse of Takeru. But the younger man wasn't in sight; probably long gone by now. He didn't bother to call out blindly into the streets for him. He would have to face him sooner or later; whether it be of Takeru's own volition or having to hunt him down.

The sharp throb at the back of his head brought his mind back into gear, and he left the window to soothe the bruise. There were no frozen foods in the house so Yamato had to scrape off chunks of ice from the edges of the freezer and wrap them in a cloth. He held the cold, soaking material to the back of his head, feeling some of the melting ice run down his neck and into the back of his shirt that he still hadn't changed from the day before. As the wound began to numb he felt the prickling sensation on the bruise, like hot needles fucking holes into his skull. It wasn't as painful as the impact itself, but it was enough to feel weak in the knees.

He stumbled over to the table, applying more pressure to the wound in hopes that it would help, and dropped into the chair, making the legs creak and bend. He hissed at the cold and pain, bending his head forward so to save his back from getting any more wet. When he closed his eyes it felt like he was drunk, diving over a big hill and feeling his stomach lurch and jump.

It just wasn't fair. It felt like he was being skull fucked. His neck and back were all twisted and aching from sleeping on the floor. He was cold. He was tired. And to top this all off he was so fucking hungry it was unbearable. He stomach was not only empty but it had been wrung dry of absolutely anything that still lingered there.

There was still so much anger left in him. He wanted to punch someone or kick a hole in the wall. But if he couldn't even stand up how did he even hope to accomplish such a thing. He wanted the energy to pick a fight with someone off the street or at the very least trash the apartment. Not that it would make a difference to the terrible state that it was already in.

With renewed vigour, and more honest determination than he remembered having, he limped the the kitchen to grab the half full bag of bread and jug of water. He slammed both down on the table next to the makeshift ice pack and took his seat once more. He arranged a few slices of bread in front of him and the jug of water to look like some kind of prison dinner. His breathing was harsh and just looking at the few pale slices of food was already beginning to make him feel sick. He could already imagine the taste in his mouth, the doughy texture of moist bread. He slowly reached for the first slice with a heated scowl that probably should have turned the bread into toast. He tore off a piece of the bread with shaking hands and compressed the small square into a soft ball that he could quickly chew and swallow without too much of a problem.

He lifted it to his lips and parted them so to bare his teeth at the piece of food. With a hesitant growl he dropped it back onto the plate, feeling the sickness set in before he'd even tasted the fucking thing.

With a slam to his fist on the table he decided to use the same method as he did when he had stage fright at the caf

Get over yourself, and get the fuck on with it.

He popped the small ball of chewy bread in his mouth, not allowing it to linger before it was quickly swallowed. Before any kind of feeling set in he tore himself another corner of the bread and ate it just as quickly as the first. By the time he was tearing off a third piece he felt a tense pressure in his stomach and throat, sending the two mouthfuls back up north. Not bothering with getting a glass, Yamato grabbed the jug of water and brought the edge of it to his lips, throwing his head back. Half the contents spilt over the side of his mouth and onto his shirt and jeans. He felt the cold liquid soak through to his bare skin but continued to drain the clear contents of the jug despite this. And once it was empty he slowly lowered the heavy glass object onto the table and blankly stared at the wall opposite. With a weak sob he felt his stomach quieten and accept the food that had been given.

Taking advantage of the calm state of his body he quickly refilled the jug of water and sat back down to the rest of the food. He'd eaten a little more than half a slice of bread in just two, almost painless, bites. Things were going good so far.

This time he tore up two more slices into bite size pieces and arranged them for him to easily grab. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth. He tried to surprise his own body by snatching the first piece off the table and chewed it only enough to stop himself from choking on it. He didn't pause afterwards and just went straight onto the next piece, wanting to get it over and done with so he could get on with his day and hopefully not throw up halfway.

After about four or five pieces he blindly grabbed for the jug of water and repeated his actions from before, trying to wash down his insides that were trying to get back out. He could feel the little lumps of food trying to climb and crawl their way back up his throat through the torrents of water flooding the passageway. Yamato's desperate action were enough of a distraction to stop him from hearing the heavy open and close of the front door.

"Yamato? What're you doing?"

A strong yet strained voice came from the hallway where Mr Ishida was now dropping his briefcase to the floor and staring at his shaking son who was lowering a now empty jug from his lips.

"Shut up. Either go to bed, or go to work, Dad."

A croaky wine made it past the thin lips before Yamato's hands flew to cover his mouth, dropping the jug to the floor. Hearing the thick glass shatter across the tiles startled Yamato into standing. An action that he regretted instantly when he rushed over to the sink to lean over it. Keeping his breathing as steady as possible he held his mouth shout with his hands, trying to overpower the heaves that his body made towards the sink and the sting of stomach acid that was bubbling over the top of his throat and into his mouth. With every jerk of his stomach muscles he moaned pressed up against the insides of his tightly clenched lips.

"Son, are you ill? What's wrong?"

There was the sound of his father kicking his bag away from him and his shoe clad feet trotting over two Yamato, crunching the glass that he stepped on into small pieces that feel between the creases of the kitchen tiles. His intentions were obviously for the better sake of his son, to be the good father that he hoped he could be and help the poor man that was hunched over the sink. But as he got closer Yamato only choked at the sharp smell of vodka on the suit jacket that was pressing against his side.

"Do you need-"

As soon as he placed his arm around the bony shoulder Yamato roughly pushed him away and stumbled back.

"Get away from me! You're making it wor-"

Before the vomit dribbled over his lips Yamato tilted his head back and tried to swallow it. With a mouthful he fell to the sink and filled up a dirty glass that was in the sink with water. He shakily downed it and coughed into his shoulder as he refilled the glass. Hiroaki watched from a distance as his so had requested, but one foot was eagerly placed in front of him with the desire to rush to his aid. As Yamato choked and spluttered over the next mouthful of water that he'd downed, he began to fill it up again.

"Son, just let it out. You're going to make yourself more sick."

Yamato shook his head and coughed heavily into the sink, almost feeling his lungs coming up through his throat with the painful shots of air that were forced out of him. Even though it hurt to breathe, at the very least his stomach had finally decided to stop being a stubborn rebel and take the fucking food. He leant his elbows on the edge of the sink and felt his whole body undulate with the deep, regular breaths that he was trying to take. Now that he was calm he realised that his Dad had ignored his plea to stay back and was rubbing circles on his back while leaning against the sink beside him. But this time, the smell didn't bother him that much, so long as he kept making those soothing patterns across his back that were only disrupted by his raised spine that was starting to worry the old man. He may have been a bit drunk, but he still knew when something was wrong.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Hiroaki didn't intend the question to sound accusing. He just wanted to generalise the question instead of deliberately asking 'what's wrong' because he knew Yamato would just reply with something dismissive as per usual. But Yamato who was, overly emotional enough to misinterpret this question, thought that his father meant to ask 'aren't you supposed to be at work making me money?'. So his response was obviously hostile.

"Shut the fuck up! Aren't _you_ supposed to be at work? Too hung over are you? Well fuck off and go back to the bar, I'll give you your fucking money later, okay?"

He shouted directly into his father's sullen face who didn't even flinch as he watched his son have an outburst that was almost comparable to those during his hormonal stage. And when Yamato was finished he dropped to the floor with a few weary gasps, feeling the ache in his abdominal muscles after all of the painful spasms.

Hiroaki stared down at the top of the blonde head, seeing the pale scalp peeking between the light strands of hair. The bony shoulders beneath it rose and fell in perfect synch under laboured breaths. Just like he used to do when the emaciated man was once a healthy young boy, he bent down and hooked his arm around a much thinner waist. It felt like he was lifting nothing but bones when he carefully helped him to stand, keeping still when he noticed Yamato's wince at being jostled too soon after being so sick. And once he'd calmed his father helped him to his bed and drew the curtains so to darken the room. Yamato didn't protest. In his filthy shirt and jeans he just watched in bizarre interest as his father pulled the blankets up to his shoulders like he was tucking him in. He ignored the alcoholic breath in his face when his father whispered to him.

"Go to sleep, son."

He quietly advised and left the room, closing the door silently behind him. Curling into a tight ball Yamato obeyed his parent and allowed another deep sleep to take him.

* * *

Within the tattered and smeared remains of the Odaiba apartment, with strewn cans, smashed bottles, and tobacco leaves hiding the colour of the carpet, a loud voice reverberated in the dank spare bedroom.

"Taichi! Get up! You're helping me clean up this shit hole!"

"Huh? Why? Go 'way."

A grumble was thrown towards the open door before Taichi pulled the pillow to his face and turned onto his back. He was far too comfortable to listen to Shinji's chokes of disgust after he'd bared his naked front to the poor man. With his eyes still closed he felt a second pillow hit him in the chest.

"No. You made most of this mess you jackass. And put some fucking pants on, I don't want see your dick."

"Pants?"

He whispered incoherently, only now noticing the chilling breeze that he felt on the prickled skin of his exposed thighs and other areas. He removed the pillow from his face and, with blurry eyes, glanced down to see that yes, he was in fact messy and naked.

"Ah shit."

He tossed the pillow aside off the bed before rubbing at his eyes, clearing away the dust and grime that lingered in the corners after his exhausted sleep. The chalky, sickly taste was beginning to form in the back of his throat, thick enough to remain there no matter how he tried to swallow it. Blindly he reached a hand across the bed, expecting to feel a warm body like he usually did when he woke up. The sheets were cold now, but he could feel the groove on the pillow that told him that someone had fallen asleep next to him, with what he remembered to be a blonde head of hair. A frown formed as he looked at the empty side of the bed and he sat up to look around the room.

He knew where he was. He knew how he'd got there. And he remembered Yamato's face and a lot of drinks. Other than that, his mind was swiped clean and completely blank.

When he stood up he didn't feel much of a hangover, which was a clear sign that it wasn't just alcohol that he had helped himself to. Coughing at the dryness of his throat he stumbled to the door to see Shinji scooping empty cans into a plastic bag. His voice was hoarse dusty when he spoke.

"Where's Yama? Did he leave?"

Shinji didn't look at him and shook his head at the memory of the evening.

"Yeah he left. He came and went last night as soon as he saw you. Whatever you did you fucked him up."

"What d'ya mean?"

With his free hand on his hip Shinji turned to Taichi, only to flinch and cover his eyes as soon as they made eye contact.

"I told you to get some fucking pants on! And take a shower, that room stinks."

With a droopy eyed nod Taichi scraped his hands across the wall as he made his way to the bathroom to clean up. He hadn't showered in two days so he obviously needed it.

He kept his eyes lazily closed as he blindly went through the motion of turning on the shower and checking the temperature before rinsing out the taste that lingered in his mouth. He spat out the foamy mix of saliva and toothpaste in the sink, watching the white and blue froth circle the drain. Scratching his greasy scalp with an exaggerated yawn he looked in the mirror above the sink as he woke up enough to see more than just colourful blurs. The first thing that caught his attention in the waist high mirror was the little pink mark that flashed from the corner of his eye as he scanned his chest. Shallow indents of teeth bordered the bruise, which made the sleepy grimace curl into a smile at the sight.

Stepping into the shower he allowed the water to soak him, content just standing under the spray and absorbing the warmth. Brushing a hand over his shoulder he winced, accidentally touching a bruise that had yet to form completely. That only made his smile widen, knowing that there were probably three or four similar bruises beside it from pale, tensed fingers that had held to his shoulders with such brutality. He couldn't remember much about how he got the marks. The evening and part of the day before was mostly just pieces of odd conversations, tastes of different alcohols and a few features from different people's face.

Only patches of blonde hair, pale legs, and hazy blue eyes were what he could recall of being in the bedroom.

Yamato.

It must have been Yama. He remembered seeing him in the crowd of people and being so stunned to see him at the same time as touched. He'd come to apologise, tell him he loved him and that he didn't mean what he'd said. At least, that's what he remembered thinking at the time. He couldn't remember Yama telling him the real reason he'd turned up at Shinji's. They must have made up, because he remembered doing shots with him on the sofa, being too drunk to know why he was laughing. There weren't any more clear pictures of what happened from then on. Yamato had wandered off somewhere and he'd had to search for him all over until he'd found him in the bedroom, almost passed out on the bed.

Taichi frowned a bit, regretting that he couldn't remember anything about their love making. Usually after a solved argument they had the best sex; passionate and expressive at the same time as being desperate and animalistic. Usually he'd end up with scratches, hickeys and bruises all over him, leaving him almost as sore as Yamato.

With a dismissive laugh Taichi began to wash himself. It didn't matter if he couldn't remember that part. They could easily do it all over again after Yamato came home from work.

After drying himself and dashing past Shinji in towel to the bedroom, he stole some of the other man's clothes and went back into the living room. Shinji was sitting on the sofa with a bowl of cereal on his lap. When he looked back to the brunette he was relieved to see that he was no longer naked. But there was something that stood out on the tanned face of the man that stood in the doorway.

"Did Yamato do that to you?"

Shinji enquired, swallowing half a mouthful of cereal before he spoke. When Taichi gave a questioning glance Shinji gestured to Taichi's cheek where a small bruise was forming. Taichi didn't know that it existed until he touched it and felt it ache when he applied pressure to it. He didn't remember being hit, and it wasn't the kind of wound that a man would receive in the throws of passion. He turned to the nearest mirror that hung on the opposite side of the living room and turned his face to get a better look. He hadn't noticed the dark bruise in the bathroom mirror, but now in the light it definitely looked like someone had intended to hurt him. He circled the small mark with his finger, trying to think if he'd come across any conflict during the evening. That's when he remembered waking up in the bedroom. It definitely wasn't morning because he could still hear the music next door. He could recall the lights being turned on and Yamato missing from the bed. Then after calling out to him he felt something hit his face. He was too numb and tired to feel the pain, but he remembered the force knocking him back onto the bed.

"Ah, I don't know. I don't remember much. It could have been him."

He spoke more to himself than to Shinji, but the other man answered with a laugh anyway.

"I think Yami's the only one with enough balls to hit you when you're that wasted. I had to ask him to make sure you were still alive."

Taichi hissed in embarrassment and sat next to Shinji, grabbing a handful of cereal from the box on the coffee table.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Yama really upset me and I was just desperate to forget about it."

He intended to end the conversation there, but with Shinji leaning towards him with a curious smirk he felt obliged to continue. He leaned back and emptied the cereal in his hand into his mouth before talking.

"He told me that he'd break up with me if I fucked around again."

"Really? And he was serious?"

Shinji put the bowl onto the coffee table to give full attention to what Taichi was saying. The concept of Yamato and Taichi not being together seemed impossible. They came as an inseparable package; together they practically formed one person.

Taichi nodded sadly and massaged the back of his neck, feeling the deep ache that he'd earned from passing out in an awkward position. He remembered Yamato's steely eyes when he'd told him off. There were no tears or screams. Just that dead tone of voice that told him that his blonde angel had the potential of being a demon.

"Looked like he was. But I don't need to find out anyway, I've learned my lesson."

With a nod he put his hands behind his head and leant into the sofa, trying to will away the slight sickness he could feel that came from drinking for two days straight. Suddenly Daisuke's worried face came to mind from before the party. He didn't look too happy to be there. He turned his head to Shinji who was relaxing next to him.

"Hey, Daisuke was here too wasn't he?"

"Yep. He stayed outside most of the time though. He wasn't really having fun. I feel kinda bad for him."

"Do you know if he got home okay?"

"Yeah, I think Yamato took him and Takeru home."

"Takeru? He was here?"

He couldn't really recall seeing the younger blonde man, only Yamato. Shinji flicked the side of his head and laughed in his throat.

"How could you not remember that? You spent most of the night leaning on each other."

After drawing nothing but blank cards concerning Takeru, Taichi decided to give up. Pulling at the tight shirt of Shinji's that he wore he stood up, avoiding tripping over the coffee table that was such an awkward height. A smile pulled at his cheeks at the thought of visiting Yamato after his work.

"Oh well. It's over now, anyway. I have to sober up and thank Yama for the bruises. Where's my bag?"

"It's in the bedroom somewhere. Could you put the sheets in the laundry while your in there?"

With a nod Taichi limbed over Shinji's outstretched legs and went to the guest bedroom that he'd collapsed in. As he approached he began to understand why Shinji had told him to shower. The room reeked of all sorts of bodily fluids, and the state didn't look much better either. The bedsheets were tossed to the floor, the side table had been knocked over and the contents of his own bag had been strewn around the room. It would be like a treasure hunt trying to find anything.

He piled the sheets by the door, cringing when he felt a wet patch on them, but feeling slightly happy at the same time. Along with his phone and wallet he dug out several half full beer bottles from under the bed which proceeded to mess up the clean clothes that he'd only just put on. At least the cool wetness of the beer soaked shirt had woken him up a bit more, making it easier to finish the task before he could change clothes again.

He stripped the rest of the bed and piled the sheets by the door, he found most of the contents of his bag and zipped it up, he picked up the filthy clothes that he'd worn the day before and he even cleaned out the cans and bottles that he found. But not before having a quick swig of a few of the bottles of course. When he swung his bag over his shoulder he surveyed the room roughly to see if anything else was wrong. The bedside table was still tipped on it's side. With a huff of annoyance Taichi dropped his bag by the door and stomped over to the table. The lamp that had stood on it was less than salvageable, the base smashed into several pieces and the shade torn. He kicked the pieces aside, being careful not to cut his bare feet, and lifted the table back up to its original place.

And then that's when he saw them.

They had been blocked by the upturned table, but now they lay bright and obvious against the grey carpet. A pair of baby pink boxers with a slight stain on the front of them.

Taichi didn't really want to touch them. They definitely weren't Yama's. Taichi had very personally every single pair of underwear that Yamato owned, and all of them were either blue, white or black. He wasn't one to wear novelty colours or patterns. So then, how did these soiled boxers find their way into the room when no one other than himself had slept in there.

"Oi, Shinji? Do you own a pair of pink boxers?"

He called and rushed to the door. Shinji looked over the back of the sofa in a daze, having been falling asleep again while Taichi had been packing up.

"No. Why?"

He grumbled and rubbed his eyes, ignoring the furrowed brows of Taichi as he looked back into the bedroom to the offending item in question. He walked over to them again, this time bravely picking them up and pushing aside his disgust. Sitting on the bed he took a closer looking, turning them over, looking at the inside, testing the elastic. Now that he looked at them properly, he agreed with himself even more strongly that they definitely weren't Yama's. They were a little too big to fit on those pale, slim hips and the label on the inside told him that they obviously weren't cheap. Also, other than the stain on the front, they looked clean, which meant they'd probably been left there recently; most probably during the party the night before. But...only he and Yama had been in this room. He was sure of it. His memory may have been hazy but he was completely certain that there were only two people in the room and that was him and Yama.

That is...unless...

He scrunched up the insulting underwear in his hand and felt a shiver of fear run through him.

"What time did Yama leave again?"

He called out to Shinji and stood up to lean against the door frame. Shinji was splayed out across the sofa with his legs off, trying the sleep off the rest of the alcohol that was in his system. With his eyes still closed he answered Taichi, scratching his cheek with a yawn.

"Pretty much as soon as he arrived. Around three or something."

"Three? He was there earlier right? I remember talking to him and drinking and-"

"Taichi, he came here at three looking for Takeru, found him with you, and left with him and Daisuke. He didn't drink anything."

No...no, that wasn't right. He could clearly see Yama's face in his mind, laughing at nothing and tipping back a glass of tequila like it was nothing. His blue eyes unfocused and his hair tossed all over the place, looking completely different from its usual kept state. He'd belted out laughter and leant against his shoulder, being more boisterous that Taichi could ever remember. But he didn't mind at the time, only concerned that Yamato was finally having some fun with him after being cooped up at work.

"But...I remember..."

He mumbled, wringing the boxers in his hand unconsciously, ignoring the fact that they were dirty and without a known owner. He began to retrace the evening, saying out loud what he could remember and keeping his stare blank and empty towards the back of the sofa.

"Yama and I did some shots together, and then he went-"

"Yamato wasn't here, Taichi."

Shinji interrupted, getting annoyed that Taichi wasn't listening to him. His eyes were closed, unseeing to the look of shock on Taichi's face and the tanned hands that gripped tighter to the pink fabric, tearing a few holes in it.

"You did shots with Takeru."

Taichi hands went slack instantly, the ripped boxers dropping to the floor with a quiet sound of heavy cloth hitting carpet. He felt his bottom lip quiver and his eyes dry at being held open so wide for so long.

"Take-...I...with Takeru?"

His voice was as high as it could go, being a half whisper and a squeak. A hiccup followed and a hand flew up to his mouth before he could scream.

The angelic face of a drunk Yamato leaning against his shoulder slowly faded and cropped blonde hair and eyes of a much lighter blue took place instead.

The lithe, seductive figure of Yamato wandering into the bedroom morphed to become the drunk stumble of a shorter and thicker build, with no such familiar grace in his step.

The sharp face that he remembered being contorted in pleasure beneath him as he thrust into an unbearably tight heat was pushed out of his mind, being dismissed as unreal. Now, he could only recall the uncertain daze in the light blue eyes beneath him, too numb and distant to feel any pleasure from Taichi's ministrations.

And the feel of tight muscles that clenched around him became a tainted pleasure once he realised that they had been virginal until he had invaded them against the other's will or knowledge.

Hearing the squeaks and gasps coming from Taichi, Shinji sat up to loo at him. The dark, tall man was slumped against the door frame, lowering himself to the floor. His hands were over his mouth, muffling the wheezing breaths that were thick and uneven. His eyes were clenched shut in agony against the images in his mind.

Realisation dawned on Shinji once he caught sight of the crumpled, pink boxers that lay at Taichi's feet. Yamato's seething expression as he dragged an unsteady Takeru towards the door suddenly made a lot more sense now than when he'd witnessed it the night before.

"Oh, shit Taichi!"

He shouted and leapt over the arm of the sofa to aid Taichi who was hunched over his knees on the floor. Taichi wasn't breathing normally. Every intake of breath was a short, sharp hiss, and every release was a sob.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

He heard the man whimper quietly through his hands as he saw the large frame of Taichi spasm and choke forward. He heard the long agonising whine of the man before he fell to the side, hitting the dead weight of his head on the wooden floor as consciousness swiftly left him.

* * *

_My gosh, I can't really recall writing a chapter as long as this one in such a short time. It's even too long for me to have the patience to proof read it. Right now I just want to get these hapters done and published so that I can get on with the really good ideas that I have in mind._

_Normally, I don't really like people adding song lyrics into their fiction because it kind of 'cheapens it' if that makes any sense. It's adding other people's material in attempt to add to the effect. But, I just had to mention this song. I went to a proper blues bar a while ago, and this one guy did such an amazing cover. I thought to myself 'that is the kinda music that suits my depiction of Yamato'. His voice was smoky but strong and his guitar playing was really great. He made a really complicated rendition of the chords. I then added the harmonica because I wanted to keep some of Yamato's original musical talents in the fiction, harmonica being his specialty. It also suits the Bob Dylan style of the song._

_Anywho, thankyou so much to everyone that reviewed on the last chapter. It made me so happy and all the comments spurred me to be more dedicated to my writing than I have been in the past. I tend to make promises that I can't keep in my author's note, so for now I'll just generally say that I'm gonna try my hardest to complete this fiction to my highest ability. So, hopefully you can look forward to steamy drama in the near future._

_Please, keep reviews coming. It only takes a second to write me a quick message. I really want to know what you think so far and what you think I need to work on. All criticism is welcome._

_Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper_

_x_


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, I never usually put notes on the top of my fics, but I just had to make sure that you're all mature enough to read this...because if not you're going to have to go to your parents to explain what's happening because there's no way _I'm_ going to do it.**

**Also, it is veeeerrryyy important that you read the end note if you want this fic to continue.**

**And so, on with the show.**

**

* * *

**_The friction between their bodies scorched, with even the slightest touch of skin stinging the surface and raising the blood in their veins. Yamato found himself twitching and gasping uncontrollably everytime Taichi bit into the flesh of his neck beneath his ear. It felt like a fire within him was slowly melting him from the inside. Every collision of their hips sent an electric spark through the boiling blood that raced beneath his flushed skin. Taichi was much the same, mumbling words and gutteral noises without focus. He just concentrated on the heat, the soft skin, the euphonious voice, the irreproachable beauty of the pale body he wrapped himself in, and the taste of skin that met his lips at his bit into the swan neck and kissed the heated cheek. The hand that held to the hips beneath him clenched harder at the pale skin, eliciting another delicious gasp that spurred him to slacken the leash on the animalistic desire that had been desperately trying to take control of his body. With Taichi's new pace Yamato found it even harder to hold back his release as well as his voice. They hadn't checked to see if his father was home when they had stumbled into the dark apartment with their lips clamped to eachother. _

_One of his hands was coaxing his own lust and the other was urging Taichi's pace by clawing at his back, so Yamato had no way to stifle those deep moans and yelps that he was unable to cage. He found his solution whe Taichi finally strayed from kissing his neck to attacking his lips. Yamato panted through his noise and wildly dominated Taichi's lips with his own. He moved the hand that had been on Taichi's back to grip at the unruly hair of his lover, slick with sweat and unruly. He forced his way between Taichi's lips and used the grip on his hair to direct the boy how he so wished. From the deep groans that Taichi rewarded him with Yamato could tell that the other appreciated his rough control over him._

_Yamato wrapped his legs tighter around Taichi's hips and pushed himself into the heat that invaded him, feeling the coil of pleasure within him tighten and twist until his mind was just a haze and his body spasmed on instinct. His mouth worked feverously at Taichi's lips as he found his cries escaping despite his efforts. Each intake of breath was like inhaling smoke; so hot and thick. The taste of Taichi was overwhelming. His mouth, soft and warm, embracing Yamato's tongue as though it were a part of his body. He couldn't resist any longer. The pleasure was almost painful. Yamato hummed deep in the back of his throat and tightened the hold he had on Taichi, pulling his hair and pulling him deeper into him with the strong legs that he had wrapped around his hips. He felt himself stop breathing, but was numb to anything else other than the bliss of his release. Taichi follwed him swiftly, whispering curses and praise into Yamato's plump, swollen lips. It was intense, like it always was when he was with Yamato. Their faces were in such close proximity that they breathed in what the other breathed out, like they were a single system of lungs. Taichi let his arms giveway and he tucked his face back into Yamato's sweet smelling neck, nosing the downy blond hairs behind his ear. It was his favourite place on Yamato's body; soft, sweet, warm, and perfect to home his sweet whispers._

_When he finally gained the stregnth to pull away his body had slowly begun to cool. Every patch of skin that was moist with sweat or Yamato's kisses began to sting with cold. But he didn't mind. Yamato was sufficiently warm to keep him from getting too cold, so long as the sated boy would allow him to get close. He could feel Yamato's body twitch and move with him when he left the sweet warmth, and a deep shiver ran its course throught the both of them._

_With a shaking hand Yamato pulled the duvet onto his chest that was rolling heavier than a sea during high winds. Though he was still unbearably overheated he'd always felt it to be in poor taste to have himself exposed in all senses of being vulnerable, even if it was only to an empty room that contained just the two of them. Taichi, lying next to him, had his head lolled to the side with his nose scraping the fan of gold that was splayed across the bare mattress. Heated breath lingered over the pale shoulder that was tucked beneath the chiselled jaw, only serving to make his temperature rise that little more into being uncomfortably hot. He could feel the burn of Taichi's remaining lustful gaze across what little was still revealed of his chest and legs._

_Yamato was glad that Taichi now understood his boundaries. The larger boy had always been surprisingly affectionate after sex; spurring him into a session of pillow talk, trying to darken the hickeys that had been made in their instinctive performance of passion, cooing his name into his ear and smothering him into a chest that was unbearably hot. All the while Yamato would seethe and beg for a short break to cool down, work out the kinks in his back and peaceful indulge in the weary calm that came in the wake of his orgasm. And after a few flicks to his nose, the pup that was Taichi finally understood that Yamato wasn't a fan of post-coital affection._

_The blond could already feel the tired results of their intimacy. Sleep was wrapping him in a comfortable warmth and stroking against his eyes; teasing him to forget about the compromising position his father would find him in if he returned home before Taichi left. Curling onto his side, forgetting that Taichi was even there, Yamato pulled the covers over his shoulder and relaxed himself completely, feeling the after-orgasm remains tingle beneath his skin. He was practically asleep instantly. That is, until he felt a warm, calloused finger scratch his cheek, and a kiss was planted on the very tip of his sharp nose._

_"Neh, Yama?"_

_A low whisper called to him, just loud enough to stop him from toppling over the edge of consciousness, but not loud enough to pull him back._

_"Hmm?"_

_He grunted in reply, too lazy to even work his jaw to form words. He fisted the covers on his shoulder to keep them in place while Taichi rearranged himself on his side to rest his chin on his hand._

_"You asleep?"_

_With a humorous sigh, Yamato turned to face away from him and curled into a foetal position._

_"Yes. I am."_

_He stated with a laugh, all the while keeping his eyes firmly shut. He could only guess from the movements he felt in the bed that Taichi was shuffling once again, trying to get comfortable. He felt a firm hand reach over his shoulder and tenderly rub at the shell of his ear, brushing over the small pierced hole to the top that was quickly healing back to its original shape. A drunken accident that was slowly becoming forgotten with time to heal. Taichi ignored Yamato's tired joke and continued to talk anyway._

_"Can I ask you something?"_

_That endearing innocence in his voice is what convinced Yamato into offering the attention that Taichi was asking for. He dropped the hold on the bed covers and turned over onto his back, allowing his neck to swing and lay his face across the pillow, facing Taichi's enquiring gaze. Though the thin lips of his lover were curled into a usual smile there was a small twitch to his expression that worried Yamato. Not enough to drop his tired smirk, but enough to raise his curiosity._

_"What's up?"_

_He spoke in a whisper, too tired to use his voice. The feeling in his vocal chords felt the same as the strings of his guitar as he tuned them, changing from being pulled taught to released and slack. He dug his shoulder blades into the mattress as he made himself more comfortable to listen intently, while Taichi watched with coloured cheeks. The oaken gaze was hesitant now. The familiar smile was pulled across his face into an expression of uncertainty. But once the pale hand of his lover crawled into his own that lay across the bed, his demeanour softened slightly, revealing that little bit of the hopeless romantic gleam in his eyes that made Yamato's heart pound harder against his ribs._

_"You love me, right?"_

_The soft enquiry earned the arching of a blond eyebrow, and the forming of several wrinkles across the bridge that split two lakes of blue. Yamato didn't understand the question let alone dignify it with a coherent answer. He just stared into what he could see of Taichi's dark eyes in the room that was almost pitch black. Taichi must have taken his silence as a sign to elaborate. He had looked away from the outlined shadow of his tired lover as he began to speak. He ran his thumb over the back of the pale hand that was willingly captured in his possessive hold, his gaze kept low to the warm intertwining of their limbs._

_"I mean...this isn't just a friends with benefits things, is it?"_

_Taichi sounded uncertain. Almost fearful. There was the squeak in his speech patterns that gave him away. Yamato just barely lifted his heavy head to sit up to the same level as Taichi. He mirrored the other's exact position; lying on his side keeping his weight on his hip, chin resting on his hand, the other hand holding onto Taichi's that lay in between their bodies._

_"Would it make a difference if it was?"_

_Yamato said, hinting a seriousness in his voice. In shock Taichi pushed himself to sitting, yet refusing to let go of the hand he held. His position was awkward but with his intense emotions rising to the surface he didn't care too much that his arm ached from being twisted awkwardly._

_"Yes! A big difference!"_

_He looked back to Yamato's calm features. He shook his head with certainty._

_"I don't want you doing this sort of thing with anyone else. It should be just me."_

_Yamato fought the rising blush in his cheeks so to take full advantage of Taichi's vulnerability at that moment. He wasn't usually one to mock a serious conversation, but the wide brown eyes and endearing scowl on Taichi's face made it all too easy to poke him further. With a twisted smirk he looked to the ceiling._

_"Oh, I don't know about that. All the other girls and guys I'm banging might get upset."_

_He heard Taichi splutter on his own saliva and couldn't help but lift the laugh that had threatened to escape since Taichi first spoke._

_"I was joking. Calm down, Tai."_

_The chuckles rocked his figure as he sat up to meet level eyed with Taichi. Ignoring Taichi's creased brow and gaping mouth he gently put a hand to his warm cheek, and clutched tighter to the other hand in his own, sweaty fingers tightly overlapping._

_"There's only you."_

_He whispered, and leant forward for a kiss when he saw Taichi relax a bit. But just before they made contact, that quiet chuckle rose once more._

_"At least, for now."_

_Taichi placed his hand over Yamato's mouth. Even with the smile covered, he could see the amusement in those cool blue eyes. Dark lips pursed into a childish pout._

_"Stop saying things like that. You'll make me jealous."_

_Yamato peeled away the hand covering his still puckered lips, which was easily moved because Taichi never really intended to use force anyway. But instead of dropping the hand completely he simply rearranged it on his face to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled the rough pads of Taichi's fingers tenderly with a laugh._

_"I can't help it. You're pouting like a kid."_

_"We'll see who's pouting when I withhold sex from you."_

_"That's more of a punishment for you than it is for me."_

_"Why? I'm not sex obsessed or anything."_

_"Are you sure? I certainly am."_

_Yamato knew that he wasn't particularly talented when it came to the arts of seduction, but even without a lusty expression or husky voice his words were a turn on to Taichi no matter what tone of voice he used them in. He saw the obvious signs that his awkward attempts had succeeded in defusing Taichi's irritation. His eyes widened, his eyebrows rose to hide behind the dark locks of hair that hung in front of his forehead, his lips parted and warm breath was rushing out between the gaps of his teeth in short, hard pants. Yamato didn't have time to heed any warnings of imminent danger before he found himself forcefully pinned back onto the bed with a warm, hard chest pressing down onto his own, stimulating his still sensitive skin._

_"Ah, Yama I'd never be cruel like that. You're too sexy."_

_Taichi moaned in between the kisses that he marked onto the lithe neck his face was tucked against. Yamato wrapped his arms around thick shoulders and closed his eyes to better bask in the feeling of Taichi's ministrations. Each prick of teeth that he could feel through the kisses had shivers running through him._

_"Damn right I am. Now shut up with all this deep conversation. You ruined my afterglow."_

_"Sorry."_

_Taichi held himself up with his forearms slowly, moving his face directly above Yamato's. He alternately stared deeply into the glistening blue orbs that watched him from beneath, staring back with lethargic adoration. With each glance of those watery irises his smile warmed just that little bit more until he could feel the heat reach the tip of each finger, like he held fire within his hands. He planted a sweet kiss upon the rose petal lips, an idyllic moment where for a first time he wished he could be out of his body so to see it for himself. But, experiencing it was probably just as good._

_Yamato kept his eyes closed after the sweet kiss had been given to him, hoping Taichi would take it as a hint to end the conversation now and let him go to sleep. He used his arms that were already wrapped around Taichi's shoulders to pull him down to the bed, using actions rather than words to tell him to go to sleep, like a puppy would need to be shown rather than told what to do. But then again, puppies don't always understand what you mean, so why would Taichi be any different?_

_"Yama,"_

_He cooed and nuzzled into the sweet smelling neck of his lover._

_"you do realise that I just confessed my love for you, right?"_

_He stroked a finger over Yamato's raised collar bone, looking at the contrast that he could see between the skin tones. Yamato was once again unsurprised, finding Taichi's immature attempts of romance to be nothing short of adorable._

_"Really? That wasn't very romantic."_

_He laughed, feeling the tickle of Taichi's breath across his neck and the feel of his lips as they formed into a pout._

_"I thought it was. No better time for a confession than after a great session of sex."_

_"Well, I wouldn't call it great, per say."_

_"You bastard. You won't be saying that after I have you screaming my name."_

_"Yeah, screaming for you to stop."_

_"Yama. Stop teasing me."_

_Taichi finally humoured Yamato's attempts to be funny in order to avoid serious conversation. He offered a small laugh beneath his whining, which was enough to satisfy Yamato._

_"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, Taichi. I didn't mean it."_

_Yamato wriggled his shoulders so to get a little more comfortable beneath the weight of the half of Taichi's chest that was still resting atop of his own, and the blunt chin that dug against the flesh of his neck._

_"Now, just let me sleep for a little while."_

_He placed his hand over Taichi's wandering finger so to still its ticklish movements that disrupted his search for sleep._

_"Or, as a better suggestion, we could have another round and then go to sleep."_

_Taichi pleaded with wide eyes._

_"No."_

_"Aww, please. After a love confession you're supposed to have sex straight away. It's taboo if you don't. Kind of like putting a curse on the relationship"_

_"Stop talking shit. A ten minute nap isn't going to completely jeopardise our future."_

_If the mentioning of a 'future' with Yamato wasn't enough to make him blush, then the feeling of Yamato's body folding into his own certainly did as the lithe male turned into tan arms so to make himself more comfortable. Taichi could feel every crease of Yamato's naked body being pressed into his own._

_"O-Okay then."_

_Taichi stuttered in a voice slightly higher than usual. But despite Yamato being able to fall asleep instantly, before that short quote had been spoken, Taichi had remained awake long after. However, he was perfectly content with just watched the strands of blond hair sweep across Yamato's scalp as the dainty spring breeze blew in from the open window. When he finally found the courage Taichi wrapped his arms as tight around the other, hoping he wouldn't wake._

* * *

When Yamato woke up he found himself to be much calmer than when he had fallen asleep. Despite how vivid his dream of a memory had been he didn't reach over to the other side of the bed for a warm body like he used to do. He knew from experience that his hand would reach nothing but the empty sheets of the other side of the mattress. He didn't feel any regret or sorrow either. He just bit down on the inner lining of his cheek and sat up with dull, crusted eyes. He rubbed at his eyes vigorously, clearing away the substance that had glued his lids together as though pressuring him to just keep them closed and go back to sleep.

From the traces of light that slipped through the edges of his closed curtain he could see that it wasn't quite dark yet. The street lights had yet to be turned on, and over the top of the other apartment building across from his window the sun peeked over to wish him a goodnight before it slipped behind the concrete grey of the twelfth floor roof. He'd probably slept for a few hours at the most, but it was a long enough rest to leave him certain that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep again. He needed something to keep himself occupied for a while until his energy failed him and he could go back to bed to sleep away the rest of his life.

He sat up in the bed that was still warm from the heat that had radiated from his sleeping body. While rubbing his left eye with a lose fist he looked around the room with the other, searching for his black trousers and shirt that were his cafe uniform. Before he could get up to stand, a ripe waft of sweat rose from his still fully clothed body. With a few hours left until his shift started he couldn't remember the last time he'd savoured a nice warm shower, and there had never been a more perfect opportunity than that moment.

As quickly as the thought had rose to his mind he sprung up and pulled off his shirt in one movement, renewed dedication showing from his eager movements. He hopped towards the bathroom with one leg hanging outside his trousers as he tried desperately to pull them off.

A simple ten minute shower was a splendid heaven. Yamato stayed under the scolding spray of water, washing and rewashing himself so to prolong the almost undeserved ecstasy. The water was hot enough to make his skin itch and tingle in a painfully pleasurable way, bordering almost on a masochistic enjoyment. He stepped out only when his skin was flushed and pruned well, long after the temperature of the water had slowly shifted from boiling to lukewarm. At least they still could afford hot water.

After towelling himself off he passed the bathroom mirror without a single glance spared to his reflection. He didn't want to know what he looked like after he'd lost so much weight. He simply rushed out of the bathroom to his room to put on his work clothes.

When he thought he was ready to leave he checked his coat pocket, his bag, and the bowl by the front door for his car keys. But they weren't to be found in any of their usual places.

"Dad, have you seen my car keys?"

He called to his father while he pulled apart the sofa in vain. He found a few coins and a key chain, but o actual keys.

When he didn't receive any kind of response from his parent, he dropped the cushion he was clutching to search the apartment.

"Dad?"

He called again, poking his head into the kitchen, his dad's bedroom, checking the balcony. Yamato couldn't even find a hair from him. He was gone without a note once more. But when Yamato checked the fridge he found four of the six cans of beer that he had bought were missing. He supposed that was a kind of signal from his father to tell him where he was going.

Now late instead of early for work Yamato decided to take the bus.

* * *

He swiped the table with a vigour unseen from him in quite a while. With each swipe of the cloth across the wooden table was nearly scraping off a layer of varnish each time, but that damn mug stain was still there. Some customers had even begun to watch him putting all his effort into his cleaning, because it was just so bizarre to see someone so dedicated to removing a simple stain.

Just as he felt his arm begin to ache the door to the cafe swung open and the new customer burst in with more energy than one would expect according to his appearance. A balding head that was splashed with grey curls wove through the tables towards Yamato, who was still stubbornly bent over the table he was cleaning.

"Yamato! My favourite blond waiter, I'm glad I caught you today. I was worried you wouldn't come to work."

The sight of his new friend, Watanabe Shou, brought Yamato back to his full height and he abandoned the frayed cloth onto the table. He smiled and took the wrinkled hand that was held out to him.

"Well, what can I say, I'm addicted to suffering. Can I get you anything?"

Watanabe lowered himself onto the closest chair, feeling the effects of his old age kicking in after he'd rushed so energetically into the cafe. He waved off Yamato's attempt to serve him.

"No, nothing for me today, except your attention. I have a proposition for you."

Finding interest, Yamato leant back against the table and folded his arms, ready to listen. Watanabe leant onto his knees and spoke with a laugh.

"Last night I was thinking about your stress troubles, feeling guilty that I couldn't help you at all, when I was struck by my ageing memory."

He began to dig in his jacket pocket while he continued.

"When I was much younger my mother fell almost deathly ill. I was so worried that I started feeling sick all the time. I couldn't sleep a wink, knowing that I was helpless."

Finally he muttered 'here it is' to himself and produced a crumpled, cream piece of paper and held it out to Yamato.

"Then someone gave me this exact brochure."

With creased brows Yamato took the folded paper from him and examined the front. A laminated picture of the empire state building stood out amongst the wrinkles in the paper, and at the top, written in red, block letters was one word.

"America?"

He read to himself and Watanabe raised his hand as though to confirm the rhetorical question.

"America!"

He stated, speaking with pride for his ingenious idea.

"I moved to New York, thinking that I could take a holiday to relax myself and take my mind off my sick mother. But my expectations of the big city were much different to the actual place."

Yamato was only half listening as he read over the obviously out of date brochure.

"It was overwhelmingly busy, pavements as tightly packed as tinned meat, mile long traffic in every direction, bars and restaurants overloaded with people, and the noise, my God, I couldn't hear a damn thing over the sounds of the city. There was no point trying to think of anything because I wouldn't be able to hear my thoughts anyway."

"Wouldn't that make you more stressed? I could imagine myself putting a knife to my temple in a place like that."

Yamato laughed, and Watanabe looked to him with his drooping eyes, expecting him to have said such a thing.

"But that's just the thing that cured me. It was so busy, so lively, so energised that there were no opportunities to worry about anything. And when I got to bed each night I was so thoroughly exhausted by the city that I would fall asleep before my head even hit the pillow. Sometimes it's bad to be left alone with yourself for so long. One can only take so much of your own company."

He reached over Yamato's gaze to tap the paper in his hand.

"And in America there are people everywhere. I mean, it may sound like a crazy idea when central Tokyo is only a short train ride away. But I believe that a completely different environment means to live in a completely different way. And change will be good for you."

Yamato looked up to see the arched smile on the old face, before looking back to the brochure. The pictures were faded, but from what he could see the place looked nice enough. The photos of the streets looked busy with tall men and women, all walking with a sense of purpose, and the pictures of the night life were even more stunning. Bright lights emitting from rows of bars and themed restaurants, fifty taxis all lined up reflected every glint from their thick yellow bodies.

"America, huh?"

He muttered, and closed the brochure in thought, taking a last look at its worn cover.

"It would be nice to see a bit of the world while I'm young.

He mused, and didn't see when Watanabe's smile grew to reach his eyes.

"That's the spirit, my boy."

Despite the lively pictures that roused a desire within him, Yamato slowly offered the booklet back to the other man.

"I can't. I haven't got the money."

"Well, I can get you a free flight over there if you want it. I have connections. But I'm afraid I can't be of much help in terms of finances other than that."

"Please, I wouldn't ask so much of you. Your concern is already more than I could have hoped for."

The elderly smile dulled a little, but Watanabe didn't take the brochure and instead pushed it back to him, signalling him to keep the small token.

"You're too humble."

He murmured in a hoarse voice, and Yamato, seeing that he might have caused some disappointment for the old man went on to rid the disheartened expression he now wore on his marred face.

"It's a really great idea, and seriously tempting, but I can't do it right now. Maybe, in a few years. But not right now."

"I understand. But please, have my phone number if you change your mind.

He quickly snatched the brochure so to write his phone number on the front of it and then handed it back quickly. His expression no longer showed any traces of sadness, but an offering of hope.

"Just a quick call from me to a friend and I could get you on a flight to anywhere as fast as you want it."

Yamato laughed at the sweet gesture and tucked the faded brochure into the pocket of his black work trousers.

"From all the kindness you've shown me, Watanabe-san, one might think that you're trying to get me in bed."

"Well, if you'll accept me as your sugar daddy then I wouldn't complain.

"I'm too flattered. But you could probably do better than a measly waiter."

"And you could do better than a senile old fart."

Yamato shook his head with a light chuckled and offered his hand to help when he saw the old man trying to get up.

"No way. I'll be looking for a charmer like you for the rest of my life."

The soft, warm hand held firm to his own, as the elderly body was pulled to stand. Their joking had certainly brightened the mood between the two of them, and the customers' curiosity was stirred at seeing the short tender moment between the two men that had the difference of a whole life between them. Watanabe didn't let go of Yamato, and joined his other hand into the small connection so to cover Yamato's frail limb completely.

"Go easy on yourself, boy. You're too young to be buckled down."

Yamato nodded and looked into the milky eyes that spoke to him. With even more intensity he ran a calloused thumb across the top of Yamato's pale hand and stared with at the soft face with an expression that Yamato hadn't seen enough off to know what it meant. But the hands tightening around his own and the warm voice gave him a hint.

"Spirit like yours shouldn't go to waste."

And Yamato couldn't help but think that he'd heard something similar from someone else in his life. Ignoring the moment of Déjà vu, Yamato gratefully accepted the advice that was given to him with a bit of flattery.

"Thank you."

"Hey, Yamato!"

He hadn't heard the door open, but Yamato definitely saw a mess of burgundy locks rush towards him, and then slowly come to a halt once he took in the intimate position of the two bizarrely contrasting men in front of him.

"Sorry, am I...interrupting?"

He questioned with an odd cringe pulling at his lips. Yamato nearly burst out laughing when he saw Daisuke's awkward intrusion. Yamato withdrew his hands to cover his laugh while Watanabe did all the talking, still keeping in close proximity to the younger, and slightly taller, blond male.

"No, not at all, young man."

He chuckled and reached up to gently pat Yamato's shoulder.

"If anything you're saving young Yamato from being sexually harassed."

The old man laughed and sent a silent salute to Daisuke, whose hair colour now blended in perfectly with that of his face. His mouth hung open, welcoming any flies that were looking for a place to stay. Feeling a little sadistic himself, Yamato leaned into the older man next to him, wanting to tease Daisuke a little bit more.

"It's not harassment if I'm willing, Watanabe-san."

He seductively brushed the dusty shoulder of the old man and smiled at the other's equally amused expression when he turned to look at him. He playfully batted the hand away.

"Oh, stop being so flirtatious, you'll get my hopes up."

He laughed deeply with a warm voice, and smoothed out his old suit jacket. His affectionate parting gift to Yamato was a short embrace around his shoulders before quickly breaking away. If he'd done any more suggestive teasing then the poor kid in front of him would surely faint from all the blood rushing to his face.

"Have a nice day, Yamato."

He lingered when saying the name of his new friend, and nodded curtly to the newcomer that had interrupted their conversation. Feeling over the old brochure in his pocket, Yamato lazily raised his hand to wave him goodbye.

"Uh, are you and that old man seriously...?"

Daisuke's question had forced him to look away from the old man's figure as he put further distance between him and the cafe. With a short laugh Yamato ruffled Daisuke's tussled hair and pushed away from that table that he had been leaning against.

"We were just joking. Though, if he were a few years younger, I wouldn't turn him down."

"Uh...gross. How are you by the way?"

Yamato raised his brow at the question, observing the gleam in Daisuke's eyes that told him that the question had been intended to hold a more personal meaning. But, Yamato refused to play along with Daisuke's game of 'therapist and patient' and just gave his usual vague response.

"I'm fine. You're rather early though. Did something happen?"

"Oh, no. I was just worried about you. You didn't look great when I left this morning. I didn't think you would go to work."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've been a bit ill."

Daisuke nodded and held his stare to Yamato, who wasn't quite sure what to say. He had to get back to work, which would be rude to do while Daisuke was trying to initiate a spontaneous staring contest with him. Awkwardly scratching his cheek, he picked up the cloth he had been cleaning with.

"Uh...is that all you came here for?"

With a cheeky glint, Daisuke sat down at the nearest table.

"Well, I actually thought I'd get some coffee too, considering this is a cafe, right?"

Yamato flushed and tucked the damp cloth into the top of his waist apron.

"Oh yeah. Did you get a hangover this morning?"

He asked, only to see Daisuke wince when reminded of the ill bile of his hangover that had been relentlessly sloshing around in his head and stomach. He leant on his hand and looked up at Yamato's humoured face. He obviously didn't find Daisuke's predicament entertaining, but seeing the usually cheery and composed man looking positively green due to his low tolerance evoked a smile from him. Yamato, being a man and having pride in his drinking abilities, found all lightweights to be amusing. Daisuke was no exception.

"Yeah, and it still hasn't gone. It's not as bad as I thought it would be, but it's not good either. When I close my eyes it feels like I'm going down a hill."

Daisuke mumbled and rubbed his finger against the spotless surface of the table that Yamato had just cleaned. Yamato nodded in understanding.

"I wouldn't recommend drinking coffee then, Daisuke. You're dehydrated from all that alcohol. I could get you some juice or something if you'd like?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. I'll trust your judgement."

"I've had my fair share of hangovers to know what works and what doesn't. Hot coffee is only going to make you energetic while still being sick."

"Thanks."

Daisuke watched as Yamato went to the counter and made his typical creased expression that showed that he was thinking. He ran his finger over a few of the drink packages in contemplation before turning to the fridge beneath the counter. He set to work swiftly and soon made his way back to Daisuke's table with a proud face. The tall glass of green liquid was placed before him.

"Here you go. A cold peppermint sweet tea with a twist of lime. A delicious beverage to hydrate you as well as give you the sugar boost you need. It's good for your metabolism, too."

Daisuke laughed and raised the cool drink to his lips.

"Since when were you a health nut, Yamato?"

"I'm not a health nut. I'm just smart when it comes to these things."

"Is it because all of that Sake and fast food you had when you were younger caught up with you?"

"You make it sound like I'm old."

Yamato dramatically sighed and took Daisuke's payment for the drink, pocketing it with a smile.

"Call me over if you need anything."

He smiled and turned back to the counter to return to his job. But before he took the first step he felt a sharp tug on the string on his apron. At first he thought that it was Daisuke being playful, so he jokily swatted it away.

"Hey, Yamato?"

Daisuke's quiet voice convinced him that he was either trying to be serious, or trying to play a slightly crueller joke on him. Concerned, Yamato turned around to see Daisuke's expression; drooped lips and squinted eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He spoke, releasing his finger hold on Yamato's apron. Yamato's cheery facade weakened, the tired lines around his face looking much deeper than they had when he'd smiled. He lowered his head and scratched the crown of blond hair that was darkening with age. His lips twitched with realisation that, apparently, no matter how much effort you put into it, a smile can't hide everything. He sighed heavily, pressing his protruding ribs against the black work shirt, and raised his eyes to Daisuke's copper stare.

"If you want the honest truth, Daisuke, I've been better."

He laughed bitterly.

"I've been much better actually. But that's okay, because in a little while I'm going to have everything sorted out and be back to normal. Does that settle your conscience enough?"

Daisuke flushed and grabbed onto his drink, feeling guilty for reminding Yamato of his troubles.

"Sorry."

He mumbled, but found himself swiftly forgiven when a pale hand ruffled through his hair with a tired chuckle.

"Don't worry about it. It's nice for you to be concerned, but don't fret over me or anything, okay?"

Daisuke nodded but didn't meet his eyes, opting to stare into the smoky green beverage that Yamato had given him. Their moment was interrupted when a burly man in a cap and jacket approached Yamato, with his clip board drawn and held out like a weapon.

"Excuse me, sir. I've got a few deliveries for someone to sign for."

"Thanks, but you could you take them round the back? I'll open the door for you."

The man nodded, making his loose cap fall over his eyes, and left to the van that was now parked outside of the cafe. With a final brush to Daisuke's shoulder and a grateful wink, Yamato left to the back room of the building, leaving Daisuke alone at his table.

Being honest with himself, he hadn't really come for a cup of coffee. His reason was purely to check on Yamato after seeing how truly emaciated and tired he had been that morning, and the frightening phone call he'd received from Takeru later on in the day was just another reason. He felt obliged to at least visit him, since he knew that there was nothing he could do that would actually make a difference. By the looks of how thin Yamato had become, Daisuke knew that something had been wrong for a while, which was probably a matter that he had no right to interfere with. But last night, seeing Yamato throw people aside when leaving the apartment, carelessly pulling on Takeru like a master would do to a disobedient dog, and then his expression in the car of a deep pain, Daisuke could have guessed that something went wrong. And after Yamato left Taichi to fend for himself, Daisuke could tell that it had something to do with his unfaithful other half.

He stirred the tea with his finger, looking to the door that Yamato had entered with eager eyes. He felt completely useless to the older man. He couldn't even make Yamato show a real smile let alone help solve any of his problems. He had someone else to pay his bills with enough left over to buy luxuries, he didn't have a lover to cheat on him, nor a brother that wasn't aware of his worth, what did he know about Yamato's kind of life? He still had a few years to relax before he actually gained any responsibility in his life.

Daisuke was so distracted that he didn't notice the figure walking back and forth in front of the entrance, reaching out to the door handle every few seconds before hesitating and pulling away to pace some more. When the man finally entered he headed straight for the counter, through Daisuke's line of sight, to talk to the employee that was swabbing down the coffee machine.

"Excuse me, Miss, but is Ya-"

"Taichi!"

The man halted in talking to the woman to turn to Daisuke, who had called out his name. When he met eyes with Daisuke he even jumped back a bit in a sort of fear. His peppermint tea left untouched, Daisuke stormed over to Taichi, seeing him as part of the solution to the matter that he had been mulling over for the past five minutes. He may not know directly what had happened to Yamato to cause him pain in the first place, but he was convinced that Taichi must have played some part in it.

"Daisuke? What are you-?"

"Come with me for a second."

He demanded, gripping on to the sleeve of Taichi's jacket and hauling him back to the entrance. The meek woman behind the counter simply watched with an erect brow as the men struggled against each other.

"Eh? Oi, I need to speak to Yama!"

Taichi whined and weakly tried to pull himself free. Daisuke's grip on him was as firm as he could muster, but his fingers barely creased the sleeve of Taichi's thick jacket.

"I need to speak to you first!"

He bit out, and Taichi complied when pulled out the door, if only to satisfy his mild curiosity for the matter.

* * *

When Yamato pocketed the pen he had signed with and returned to work he didn't see Daisuke at the table he'd left him at, and his drink was practically still full. He didn't think too much of it though. The poor boy could have rushed to the toilet with sickness from his hangover, and Yamato knew better than to try and help him. Fussing over him would just make it worse. And besides, it was his own fault in the first place for drinking such copious amounts of alcohol when he knew that his limits would be far exceeded.

"Yami, phone for you."

One of his fellow workers called from the back room where he had just come from.

"For me?"

Yamato asked and pointed to his person.

"Naw, for the mole on your back. Of course it's for you, stupid."

The man rolled his eyes sarcastically and held out the plastic appliance. Yamato was hesitant to take it. It was rare for him to receive a call at work, unless it was some kind of emergency.

"Did they say who it was?"

"It's a lady."

The man said and gave Yamato a wink before returning to work once the phone had been taken from him. Yamato looked bewildered and had yet to put the phone to his ear. A lady? Who on earth...

"Yamato speaking."

He spoke, sounding more like a question than a greeting to the person on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Yamato? It's Mommoko, from Odaiba Elementary."

The secretary with the soft voice. All Yamato could think was 'oh shit, I'm fired, I'm fired, I just know it.' But despite this inner rant he kept the smile on his face.

"Ah, hello, Mommoko. Is something wrong?"

"No, not really...I don't think so, but...I was just wondering...have you sold your car?"

"My car? No. Why?"

"It's nothing, it's just...I'm parked outside the car shop on the east side and there's a car parked in the lot that looks exactly like yours. Has it been stolen or something?"

"Not that I know of. I drove home in it just this morning. Can you tell me what it looks like?"

"It's a jaguar, quite a dark blue, licence plate xxxxxx, looks like it's been nicked on the left side of the front bumper, black leather seats, a red-"

"That's my car!...that is my car, no doubt about it!"

Yamato growled and pounded his fist on the counter. He didn't care when an elderly customer scolded him with her eyes for his impertinence.

"Are you sure it wasn't stolen, Yamato?"

"Not any more. What shop is this? Where are you?"

With a groan he grabbed the first pen he found and scrawled down Mommoko's directions to the shop on his hand.

"Okay, thanks so much for calling me. I'm going to go check this out."

"Do you want me to wait here for you? I could-"

"No, don't worry. Carry on with your evening, sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble at all, I hope this works out okay. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, thanks. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone, and tossed it back to the employee that had given it to him.

"Tell the boss I need to clock off early."

He said and threw off his apron, nearly ripping it off of him when he struggled with the tie at the back. The man barely caught the phone and followed Yamato's frantic movements as he tried to escape the cafe as swiftly as possible.

"Eh? Why?"

"My car's been stolen."

"Shit. Good luck with that, Yami."

He didn't bother to put on his coat, and instead clutched it and allowed it to billow behind him as he ran out of the building. He was nothing but a roaring blur as he dashed past two familiar figures that he was too distracted to take notice of. His sense of urgency wasn't satisfied when he realised that he'd have to wait for a bus to get to this place, and it was probably closing up at that very moment.

* * *

Taichi could have easily escaped from Daisuke's grip, but didn't dare to do so. Not while he wore a fiery scowl that no vengeful demon could possibly compare to. He just allowed himself to be dragged away to the cafe, only slightly relieved that his confrontation with Yamato was going to be postponed for a few more minutes while he dealt with Daisuke.

In the mind of Daisuke, the canvas was blank other than his desire to help Yamato which was now controlling all actions and emotions. He was barely short of grabbing Taichi's hair when he didn't move fast enough as he pulled him towards the bench that sat across the street. And when they reached the rotting street furniture he threw Taichi onto it and stood before him with his arms firmly crossed.

"Did you see Yamato last night?"

He spat towards the seated male, hoping that by looming over him he might intimidate Taichi into talking.

"Huh? Why are you-"

"Did you see him? Something happened, and I know you had something to do with it."

With a sigh Taichi lowered his gaze, shame evident on his face.

"Yeah, I saw him. But I don't want to be talking about it with you; I'm here to talk to _him_."

"Well, talk to me first. I don't want him getting hurt even more."

Taichi frustratedly grabbed the seat of the bench with a steel grip and fired his stare at Daisuke, who had is arms folded stiffly and though his face was almost blank, his eyes showed a fire that should have melted them right out of their sockets. Taichi stood up, determined to not be bothered by his junior. He told himself that he was angry because his time was being wasted. But the glint that Daisuke had in his eye when Yamato's name was mentioned certainly helped to stoke Taichi's temper.

"Since when were you his fucking protector, Daisuke?"

He roared, and stood there silently, expecting Daisuke to shout back at him. But the younger boy didn't. His face showed that he wasn't at all surprised by Taichi's outburst. Perhaps he had even expected it. With an empty tone he answered.

"Since the day you stopped."

With sad eyes Taichi's anger wasn't extinguished, but slowly died out with nothing left to fuel it. He sat back down on the bench with weakened legs while Daisuke just kept watching him, still wanting an answer to his initial question and determined to pry it from the older man that he had once admired. When he saw Taichi like this, face pale and creased, clothes dirty, eyes bloodshot, face bruised and lips raw, he couldn't imagine him to be the same man that he had dedicated his life to growing up to be like; the man who had won game after game of soccer and been so close to being something great.

"You're the one that's been telling him about all the shit I did, aren't you?"

Taichi's laugh wasn't at all humorous while he'd said this. He had been shaking his head and rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. Daisuke found himself pitying Taichi; his first time experiencing such a thing where Taichi was involved. His firmly held arms loosened, and his frown faltered.

"Are you mad?"

Taichi shook his head and looked up to the younger male.

"No. I'm grateful. I don't think I'd have the guts to tell him myself, and he deserves better than me lying to him all the time."

He leaned back with a sad sigh and a smile and looked to the opening heavens above him. It looked like it was going to rain soon, despite the fact that summer was close at hand. He thought to himself that it must be global warming, or at the very least mother earth was attempting to create pathetic fallacy.

With a growl he leant forward on the bench, intent on spitting out his confession quickly. But all he managed to choke out was a croaky 'I' before he stopped himself. Daisuke was looking more frightened by the second. He took his time; said it slowly, calmly, but crudely. His choice of words weren't exactly the most appropriate, but at least he finally said it.

"I fucked Takeru."

* * *

"Hey! Anyone here?"

The place looked pretty barren from the outside, but under the half closed garage door, Yamato could see the stream of a lit room. Ignoring any kind of etiquette he just allowed himself inside and called out again for any kind of assistance. Oil stained sheets covered all and any cars that he could see, which he assumed meant that there must not have been anyone working on them. But the light was still on. There must have been someone still here that he could talk to. He called out once again, cupping his hands around his mouth to extend the sound desperately.

He jumped when he heard the creaky door of a hidden office open, and a bulked stranger in a full mechanic's jumpsuit walked out with a snarl.

"What d'ya want?"

Although the man didn't necessarily look hostile, it was obvious that he was agitated after being disturbed from whatever he was doing. Shaking his head and ignoring his polite nature to apologise for the disturbance Yamato took control to be resolute.

"That blue jag out front is mine!"

The mechanic tucked a pen behind his ears and crossed his arms.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, same licence plate and everything. Who sold it to you?"

The guy turned back around to head back into the office as he answered.

"Some kid. Are ya g'na buy it back?"

Yamato followed him into the small room with an incredulous growl.

"I shouldn't have to buy it back, it's _my_ fucking car. I've paid for it already!"

"Ya got insurance ta cover it then? How do I even know it's really yers?"

Yamato was almost about to loot his pockets for his keys, until he remembered that he hadn't been able to find them. He flicked his head in frustration at himself.

"I've got the keys and registration for it at home if you need that as proof. I can-"

"If ya' can get me tha registration I could cut ya' some slack. But I paid good money fer that thing, and I'm not just g'na give it away ta some jackass that claims that it's his."

"So, if I get you my registration you'll give it back to me?"

"No. If ya' get me tha registration then I'll give ya' a good deal ta buy it back. Yer insurance should cover it okay, but I'm not just g'na give it away. I paid fer it too."

Yamato tried to convince himself that he had misunderstood the strong Kansai accent of the man that became even less comprehensible when combined with his lazy jaw. But despite how many ways he translated the sounds he still came up with the same words. He'd have to pay to get her back. Considering her worth when he'd first purchased her it would take him more than just a few years to earn that amount all over again, and hoping to make a profit the mechanic would probably sell her for more anyway, seeing how desperate Yamato was to get her back.

"I swear to the fucking Gods that I'm am going to kill this fucking thief!"

Yamato couldn't tell if he'd mumbled or screamed his frustrated statement, but either way the man in the room heard it and felt that the comment was directed at him and that he had a right to reply.

"And ya' have every fuckin' right ta. Report tha little fucker."

"Could you at least tell me what he looked like?"

The guy scratched his chin and looked to the ceiling as he listed vague details.

"Kinda tall, lanky but not skinny, pale-ish, blue eyes, blond hair, looked about nineteen or somethin', wearin' a green shirt. I could get tha security tape if ya want a better look at tha kid. Maybe even use tha video fer tha cops."

Yamato shook his head with a growl.

"That's alright. I think I've got a good image of the guy. Thanks."

In fact the image he had of the culprit wasn't just _good,_ it bordered on being scarily accurate, right down to the features that the mechanic hadn't even mentioned to him. He left without any kind of closure about what would happen to his car. He didn't know the real reason for the feeling like he was falling or the terrible nausea, so for now he would just blame it on the overwhelming scent of petrol and tell himself that he was fine and that he just needed to get a hold of himself.

But the strangled cry of anguish that he released once he'd gotten to the bus stop said differently.

"Fuuuuck!"

* * *

Daisuke knew very well that he hadn't said a word in over two minutes. His saliva felt to have the consistency of peanut butter, slicking his gums and stiffening any form of jaw movement. He stared with his brows hidden beneath his hair at Taichi, who didn't look to be too proud of himself. His umber orbs were lowered to his lap, where his trembling hands were picking at a few loose threads in the hem of his flimsy jacket.

When he finally found his circulation to regulate and his mouth to function properly he blurted the first thing that came to mind in a desperately painful voice.

"Taichi, you can't tell him!"

Taichi shook his head slowly.

"It's too late. I'm sure he pretty much knows."

In a sort of shock Daisuke automatically dropped onto the bench next to Taichi, not caring if the wet mould on the wood would stain his clothes.

"How could you do that?"

It felt more like he was questioning himself with how quite he had whispered it. He kept his eyes to the gravel.

"I know this is a fucking cliché and I've said it a hundred times over, but if there is only once chance for me to mean it then this is definitely it. It seriously wasn't my fault. I was so out of it, I thought he was Yama!"

"It _is_ your fault!"

Daisuke screamed and pointed his finger to Taichi's face, resisting from curling that last finger into his hand to form a fist that he so wanted to throw into the frightened face of Taichi.

"No one forced anything down your throat! You took it all yourself and acted like an asshole as a consequence."

"I know, I know. I'm fucking sorry!"

Taichi backed away from Daisuke's hand, wanting to be out of range from his wrath while he still had things to say. He didn't feel safe being in the presence of the younger man at the moment. His face was nearly as dark a shade of plum as his hair and his pupils were dilating sporadically; violent and irregular like his raging pulse.

Taichi swallowed loudly and brushed his hair from his face before speaking.

"I've fucked up. I've fucked up so bad that there's probably no way of fixing this."

He tilted his face and looked through the strings of hair that hung over his vision.

"But, at least, I'm _trying_ to fix it."

Daisuke sighed, being unable to find another hurtful comeback to Taichi's comments. He wanted the older man to feel more than guilty. He wanted him to _hate_ himself. If he was able to do that then maybe he would feel like he was helping Yamato in some way, instead of fraternizing with the enemy. No, that didn't sound right. Taichi wasn't an enemy. Taichi was his mentor, his hero, his friend.

Daisuke pulled at his hair, finding himself torn between two places and two people that he held dear to him. He wanted to console Taichi because he was his friend, but he also wanted to punish Taichi because Yamato was his friend as well, and this was the man that had caused his friend such pain.

"Why, Taichi? Why would you even do it the first time?"

Taichi held his hands together, like he was praying, and leant forward onto his knees.

"I don't really know anymore. My reasons keep changing."

He muttered and watched the few cars that drove down the road before them. Two or three cars every half an hour was the busiest that the small road would get, even during rush hour. So those rare cars that passed penetrated the calm of the empty street like a roar of a beast would do an empty cave. Daisuke watched them pass as well, finding little to look at or say during their moment of silence. Then, just when Daisuke felt himself calming down and forgetting where he was, Taichi began to speak again, in a quite hum of his low voice.

"He won't cry for me anymore."

Daisuke turned to him with a creased brow.

"You did it to make him cry?"

"No!...well, I used to. This time was different."

Taichi saw Daisuke to be just as confused as he had been when he'd made the previous statement. He knew he'd have to elaborate and reveal some personal matters; maters that he had trouble admitting to himself let alone others. But it was necessary. He owed Daisuke that much for taking his place beside Yamato as his source of comfort. He had the right to at least know why he had taken that position.

"The first time that I slept with someone else was an accident, and I made Yama cry when I told him. But...seeing him cry made me happy in a sick, sadistic kind of way I guess. At least if he cried I knew that he actually cared about me."

The ironic smile on Taichi's face slipped from his lips. He took in a ragged breath.

"But he doesn't do that anymore. In fact he pretends it didn't happen half of the time, and it pisses me off. I've been waiting for him to get angry at me; hit me like he used to in the old days when I fucked up. It's like he's given up on me. And then when he told me that he thought we should break up it I knew that he'd given up for sure. He didn't love me anymore."

He turned to see Daisuke staring at him, listening absorbedly to every word and slowly feeling more and more guilty for thinking about wanting to hit Taichi. Meanwhile, Taichi was feeling almost bashful to have so much attention paid to him, especially when he spoke about something so personal. But he continued anyway, caring less and less about who he was speaking to and focusing on what needed to be said. And if Daisuke wasn't then one to hear it then he knew that he'd just have to say the same things to a psychiatrist later on in life anyway. He could feel the sting in his eyes and the sting in his chest as he thought of what to say. There was something clogging his throat, making every swallow of saliva thick and painful. He breathed out deeply.

"I guess...when I slept with Takeru, I was just clinging onto my last hope that Yamato still loved me."

"Taichi..."

Daisuke whispered, shocked at what he was hearing. But something particular stuck out from what Taichi said; something that he felt responsible for.

"Taichi, I was the one that told him that he should end it with you."

Taichi's hurt expression that was shown to him only made Daisuke feel worse. At the time that he'd given the advice to Yamato he hadn't known any part of Taichi's story and just thought of him as a heartless person. But at least now he knew some part differently.

"Why?"

Taichi choked, feeling betrayed. But Daisuke easily justified this betrayal of trust.

"You might not see what's happening, but I do. He's changed, Taichi. He's not the same Yamato that I used to look up to in high school. You're not the only reason he's changed though. I mean, if he still loves you after all this time then you must've done at least _something_ right."

"He...He loves me?"

Taichi was nearly falling out of his seat. His sad grimace had faded completely. He was smiling, full of life and pure joy radiating from his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Daisuke laughed to himself, feeling a sense of nostalgia after seeing Taichi smile like that. He couldn't remember seeing Taichi this animated since high school. When he calmed down he gave Taichi a good slap to the back.

"Yeah, why else would he put up with your shit?"

Taichi's smile only brightened and his clasped hands clenched tighter together. But before Taichi got too immersed in his recovered bliss Daisuke pulled him down from the cloud that he sat on.

"But Taichi, that doesn't mean that you can do whatever you like. You have most definitely fucked this up and even if he still loves you he probably hates you as well."

Taichi nodded in all seriousness.

"That's why I came here; to apologise."

"If you tell him what you told me I think he'll understand you a bit more. I reckon it'll get you a few marks for honesty."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, just man up, and make sure you don't start sobbing."

Taichi laughed and leant back on the bench.

"Are you kidding? As soon as I see his face I'm probably going to start crying hysterically."

Daisuke laughed a bit as well, only to relieve some tension rather than because what Taichi had said was funny. He gave the older male a few minutes to compose himself and think over what to say before they finally decided to get it over with and go and see Yamato.

When they entered the cafe a different male served behind the counter alongside the woman and not a blonde hair was visible throughout the whole building. Taichi's face sagged in both disappointment as well as some part relief.

* * *

The stupid registration wasn't in a damn place to be found. Yamato had tipped out every draw in his bedroom as well as every other draw in the apartment. He even checked the kitchen cupboards to be sure. All he found was a few old high school certificates, some parking tickets and his passport that had been lost for the past few years. But no registration for his car. After experience with his shitty luck the paper had most probably been in the glove compartment of his car. If the rest of the workers at the car shop were as unprofessional and inconsiderate as the one he'd met that day then they'd probably tossed it out without a second thought.

When the phone rang he growled and kicked aside the drawer that he had been looking through.

"Hello, Yamato speaking."

"Yamato, it's Daisuke. You just left the cafe all of a sudden without a word."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I had an emergency. I'm glad you called actually. Do you know where Takeru is? He isn't answering his cell phone."

"Takeru? Uh...yeah, I think so. He was going to his mum's today. But listen, Yamato, before you go off and find him could you come back to the cafe for a minute?"

Barely listening to what was being said Yamato dragged the phone and its cradle across the room and back to the mess that he'd made in searching for his forms.

"Sorry, no can do. I'm in the middle of a crisis."

"Well, then can I come over to the apartment? There's someone-"

"If you're willing to wait for me until I get back then yeah, you can come here. But I might be back late because I'm getting the fucking bus."

"What happened to your car? And what happened with Takeru?"

"I hope that nothing happened with Takeru, but I'm going to talk to him to find out. Just come here and make yourself comfortable, my Dad should be here to let you in. I shouldn't be back late. Okay, bye."

Yamato hung up quickly and threw another pile of undesired papers across the room in disappointment. He couldn't find it. It seemed hopeless.

Daisuke stared at his phone in a sort of shock. Yamato had hung up so suddenly and spoken so harshly that he seemed so out of character. And what was happening with Takeru? He hadn't heard from his friend that anything had happened.

"So, is it okay to go over there?"

Taichi asked from beside him, looking across the younger's shoulder from his seat on the bench beside him. Daisuke dismissed his worries and looked over to Taichi.

"Yeah I think so. But he's not going to be there until he gets back from Takeru's, so you have enough time to prepare what you're going to say."

Taichi looked down and nodded solemnly, unconsciously thinking over the possibilities that what could go wrong and slowly beginning to dread his inevitable meeting with his lover.

"Are you going to come with me?"

Daisuke shrugged his shoulders and pocketed his phone.

"If you want me to then I will. But it's not like I could help you or anything. I might even make it worse by being there."

"So...I'm on my own from here."

Daisuke couldn't stand to see the boy he'd so admired looking so lost. Taichi had always been the one that was certain of whatever he did. And yet, he was sitting on a rotting bench, hunched into himself, looking pathetically sorry for himself. It was for this reason that Daisuke found it difficult to stay mad at Taichi. He thought that he'd loath the man for the burdens he put on his loved ones. But now that he realised that Taichi put equal burdens upon himself, he didn't excuse his behaviour, but overlooked it to see that good person that Taichi always had been beneath all of the shit he'd gotten up to.

The hand he placed upon the muscled shoulder to him represented acceptance. Forgiveness.

"Good luck."

He mumbled, and Taichi finally revealed an inkling of a smile. Never mind if it was coated in sarcasm from crease to crease, it was certainly more comforting to look at than his frown.

"Thanks, Daisuke. I'm going to need as much luck as I can fucking get."

He laughed awkwardly and Daisuke joined in soon after.

"Just, don't go saying anything stupid and try to stand up for yourself. Just grovel like you've never grovelled before. Okay?"

"Yeah."

* * *

"Yamato? Wh-what are you doing here?"

Takaishi Natsuko was pressed against the wood of the open door as she looked to her eldest son, who stood soaked on her front porch from the spontaneous torrent of rain. Cleaning the rainwater from his face and squinting his eyes he spoke with a raised volume over the sound of soaring water breaking against the pavement.

"Is Takeru here?"

She nodded dumbly for a moment, trying to recover from the shock of seeing him after so long. Her voice only found her after she'd coughed into her hand and pushed off from the door to stand on her own without support.

"Y-Yes, he's upstairs. I'll just call him down for-"

"Don't bother, I'll go upstairs. Sorry for the intrusion."

She didn't have time to move out of his way. He avoided her eyes completely as he ducked under her arm and around her to the stairs.

Takeru's bedroom door was shut but locked. His mother didn't dare to go into the room of her young son when he shot the door, wanting to stay a stranger to the private matters of the young man. Yamato didn't bother to knock and just waltzed in unannounced, which turned out to be a wise decision when he caught his brother in the act of relighting the spliff that he'd been sucking on. After jumping in shock at his brother's entry Takeru wildly tried to direct the smoke out of the window he sat next to by waving his arms

"Nii-chan! What are-"

With little change of expression Yamato stalked towards him and snatched the let paper from his hand and bent down to meet his brother eye to eye. He held it towards Takeru's face and spoke with a condescending tone.

"Weed is for hippies and people that haven't got anything better to do with their time. Don't suffocate your brain while you still need to use it."

"But_ you_ used to-"

Before allowing Takeru to retaliate, Yamato threw it out of the open window, and Takeru kept his eyes on it the whole time as it descended to the garden beneath his window. The smoke even continued to sift towards his window, as though it were taunting him.

"Takeru."

Yamato's tense hands clutching at his shoulders drew his attention away from the wasted spliff. The darker eyes that held more wisdom were at that moment stricken, glimmering with a sort of impossible hope that his suspicions were incorrect.

"Takeru, did you take my car?"

He didn't get one of the few reactions that he'd expected from Takeru. His younger brother just widened his eyes and tensed up. Yamato growled instead of exhaled and tightened his hold on Takeru's shirt just that little bit to get his point across. He'd never even imagine inflicting pain upon his sibling.

"Takeru, I'm not going to fuck around with this. I am being deadly serious."

"Why ask me?"

Takeru murmured and avoided Yamato's eyes. Letting go of his brother's shoulders Yamato crossed his arms and sat on the desk in Takeru's room, only a foot away from where he'd previously stood. With his arms folded and face stern he looked like a lecturing father rather than a cool older brother, but Yamato knew that he played both parts in Takeru's life anyway.

"My car is in the shop. Apparently it was sold to the owner that morning by a blond, blue eyed, nineteen year old punk. "

It didn't need to be voiced what he was implying. Takeru gripped his hair.

"Oh, Gods."

He groaned, as though he had just realized that the event hadn't been a dream like he had hoped; that he'd actually betrayed his brother in such a cruel way.

Seeing his little brother in pain still caused a reactive pain in Yamato as well, but he resisted well to hold and comfort the young male. But even if he couldn't necessarily hold him he felt that perhaps a close proximity would help to some point, so he sat on the bed, nearly pressed up against the young male who was hunched over his crossed legs. Yamato gave him a few moments of silence, allowing Takeru to get a grasp of his erratic breathing. When he realised that his brother wasn't going to calm down anytime soon he just chose to continue.

"Why, Takeru?"

"I'm sorry, okay. I'm so sorry. You have no idea how fucking terrible I feel about this."

"Then why do it? After all I did? I pick you up from a strange party at 3 am, I practically carry you back, I let you sleep in my bed while I'm on the floor-"

"I get it!"

Takeru jumped in with a desperate voice and ripped his hands from his head, nearly taking out half of his blond locks with them. He let out a deep and calm breath when he realised from the look on Yamato's face that getting hysterical wasn't going to help him solve the problem.

"I'm an ass hole. I get it. You don't have to make me feel worse about it."

"Yes I do, Takeru. I worked my whole life for that car. And now, unless I take this to court, I'm going to have to work for it all over again."

It felt horrible to try and manipulate Takeru with guilt, but it was better than his alternative, which would to give him a good beating like he would do when Taichi fucked up, and like his dad would do when he got too wise. At least this way Takeru would understand him better. The boy needed a lesson on empathy.

"What you did was really shitty, Takeru. I mean, parties and drinking are all a part of growing up and shit, I can understand that much. But this...this is..."

Yamato fell into a struggling silence. He twitched his fingers that gripped to his knees, as though he were about to pull the words he searched for from the thick, smoky air surrounding them.

"If this is because I didn't lend you money then...I don't know if I can forgive you so easily."

The words circled Takeru, who was sought after the right way to respond to his brother's painful words. Yamato had never said such a thing to him before. He thought that he'd always be able to rely on Yamato for forgiveness. Doubting such a thing seemed unfathomable.

Yamato forced eye contact.

"You should know that if I had the money then I would have given it to you. You're my baby brother and I would do anything for you. And I mean it when I say that."

He placed a strong emphasis on 'anything' and implying it with a universal meaning. If Takeru asked him to rob a bank or leave the country he would do it blindly without a moment of hesitation. He shook his head sorrowfully.

"You didn't have to do something like this."

Takeru jumped to standing and looked down at his brother with a solid gaze. His voice wavered beneath the volume of his words.

"I wasn't thinking! I had debts and problems that I couldn't fix on my own, and mum refused to accept how difficult it all was for me. She didn't even react when I told her the amount that I actually owed. It wasn't until I paid back the guys that I finally started thinking straight."

He didn't wait for a response and went straight for his sports bag that leant against the door. Yamato watched as Takeru carelessly tipped everything through the floor and scavenged its contents carelessly, throwing things across the room when they got in his way. Afterwards he went back to the bed where Yamato was still sitting calmly and handed him an envelope, bursting full with a colourful range of crumpled notes.

"Here's what's left of what I got paid. Can you buy it back with this?"

He held it out with a shaking hand and rubbed his nose on his sleeve, just in case Yamato saw any traces of residue that would tell him that he was about to cry. Yamato took it slowly, not caring to look at Takeru's face when he knew that he would only feel worse if he truly realised how much pain he had caused Takeru.

When he looked in the envelope he realised that it had not been quite as full as he thought. Most of them were small notes. It probably added up to quite a lot, but with how much he could see had been spent he knew that he wouldn't be able to pay the difference, never mind the fact that the man at the shop was probably going to ask him to pay with interest. Yamato just shook his head and mumbled.

"I don't know."

He didn't see Takeru's face completely fall. Yamato stood up to leave with the money, thinking that there was no more to really say. Takeru knew he'd done wrong, and that was enough to truly satisfy him. Causing any more pain would just border on being sadistic.

"Nii-chan!"

But Takeru didn't think that the conversation was over. He grappled to Yamato's sleeve with a quick hand.

"I never did this to hurt you! Please, believe me!"

A series of loud knocks on the bedroom door halted Yamato before he was able to answer. His mother's voice rose from the crack under the door.

"Takeru? What's going on? I heard shouting."

"Nothing, mum. Just go away!"

The mother blonde ignored her son's temper and opened the door anyway to see her younger son clutching to the arm of his brother with a tearful face. She sternly looked to the taller of the two, misreading the situation in her own ways.

"Yamato, if your being here is going to cause hostility then I don't want you in my house."

"Mum, Don't! Yamato was just-"

"I was just about to leave anyway."

He coldly gazed at his mother and watched her match his icy glare tenfold, after all, his eyes were born from hers. She followed the figure of her older son with her eyes dismissively as he briskly blew past her and out of the bedroom door. Takeru had unconsciously let go of Yamato's sleeve as soon as his mum had ordered him to leave, but now that he'd seen Yamato leave the room he dashed after him. He looked over the banister from the top of the stairs to see Yamato reach for the latch on the front door.

"Wait! Nii-chan!"

His call was ignored, and Yamato showed no sign of second guessing himself as he walked out onto the street and slammed the front door behind him. He pocketed the envelope and stood on the porch for a few moments. The street lights had been turned on, and now the street looked so different; unwelcoming and almost frightening. If he had his car he wouldn't have minded too much, he could drive home in the safety of his vehicle. But the bus stop was two dauntingly long streets away, and the alleys that were used as shortcuts had no lights whatsoever, seeming like dark portals that sucked the light from the world.

So he began to walk the long route at a snail's pace. The first form of life that he met along his way was an 'open all hours' corner shop that he took his time to become acquainted with, with the help of the new money that his brother had given him.

* * *

He could feel the wet of the stony pavement soak through the back of his work trousers, though he was numb to the cold that the water would have usually caused in his naked skin. It just went to show that the bottle of cheap Sake that he had just purchased was doing its job, as were the cheap pack of cigarettes. By how good it felt to be intoxicated again Yamato knew he couldn't trust himself with the new money he'd come in to. If he had his way at the moment he'd spend every last penny of it on bottle after bottle of liquor, cheap unfiltered cigarettes, and a bucket to throw up in when he got bored of them. And to think, after saying to himself that he had matured and moved past his wild phase, he still found his old romance with booze to be as passionate as it had been when he was young and reckless.

With his unsteady hand, Yamato raised the cigarette to take another drag, but his arm was so weak that it took him several tries until the paper actually met his lips. He took a greedy drag of its fumes and held it in his lungs until he felt dizzy. He watched the smoke rise from the lit ash like a spectre that died in a struggle with the night breeze that broke it apart. His lids hung heavy over his darkened eyes and his broken lips had been pulled back to bare his teeth. He wasn't even wearing his jacket and his shirt collar had been opened when the feeling of choking became too much to bear, but despite the fresh remains of rain and the cold he looked like he barely noticed the temperature. The only signs of discomfort would be his foot that was tapping on the road from his sitting position on the side of the pavement. Every so often a car would drive down the empty road and spare a glance to the lone man that sat in the puddle by himself on the floor, but they wouldn't think too much of it once they caught sight of the empty bottle of alcohol beside him.

Yamato held in his other hand the envelope that Takeru had presented to him. It was thick, and heavy. It had been a long time since he seen that kind of money all together. The weight felt so good in his hand. To think that the key to solving all of his financial problems had been his ride to work made him think that he had been selfishly fooling himself by trying to keep a hold of his only luxury. If he'd sold it sooner then perhaps his life would have turned out very differently.

"Oh God."

He moaned and pulled at his hair. Since when had money become his meaning in life? He never used to be like this, and he pitied people that were so attached to objects. And yet here he was, treating an envelope of money like it was his God in life. Fucking hypocrite.

Angrily he tried to stuff the envelope into his back pocket, but something was obstructing it. In frustration it fished out that something and was startled to pull it out. A brochure. Wanting to give that bundle of paper all of his attention Yamato tucked the full envelope securely between his legs to hold the brochure with both hands. There was a faded picture of the empire state building looking back at his smiling face. He rubbed at it with his thumb, though he was numb to feel its texture. He knew that he was definitely drunk if he was even remotely considering this idea, no matter how tempting it was.

America? The mentioning of it was preposterous.

He didn't speak the language. Although, he did use to take English lessons and still had that old dictionary somewhere in his room.

He didn't have anywhere to live. But, the money from his car could probably buy him a room for a little while until he got a steady job.

He couldn't just up and leave his current jobs, it'd be inconsiderate. Then again, he was on the brink of being fired from the cafe anyway, and he only had one day left at the school before the holidays started.

With every con that he could come up with, he found himself counteracting himself with just another reason to go through with this daring scheme. It must have been the Sake talking. He just kept reminding himself not to get worked up into a frenzy. It'd be bet to sober up before making such a decision.

But, sober Yamato would obviously say no. And drunk Yamato didn't want to go back to work, or go back home, or go anywhere in Japan for that matter. He wanted to go to America, and fuck what sober Yamato would say.

The patter of another torrent of fresh rain fell upon his shoulders. With a sigh he fell back onto the floor, allowing himself to be basted with the filthy water, with the fresh water falling into his gaping mouth. The pattering of each raindrop was euphonious, thrumming like the drums of a million toy soldiers. When he laughed to himself he finally felt a shiver course through him. It seemed like it was time to buy another bottle of Sake, but for now it would be sensible to get out of the rain.

He tossed aside his extinguished cigarette and held his jacket over his head as he ran, clutching to the brochure and the envelope like they were a banister that would help him stand when his legs wobbled. The first shelter he found ironically was a phone box. It felt like destiny was pushing him in the direction that she so chose for him. It made him smile. Yes, drunk Yamato apparently believed in lady destiny, and who was he to go against her wishes?

He stumbled into the broken booth, nearly hitting his head on the phone box. Mumbling pleas and hopes he rummaged through every pocket for a few coins. He had an envelope of cash, but didn't have any damn change to make a phone call. Just when he was about to give up he saw it on the floor. A shining prize of a coin that was perfect to make his call. He thanked lady destiny once again as he put the coin in the slot and began dialling the number that had been written on the back of the brochure. He was bouncing off of the vandalised metal cage of the phone booth in anxiety, drumming his fingers against the phone and shaking out his jacket of rain. Then before the person had barely answered Yamato jumped in to speak.

"Watanabe-san, does your offer still stand?"

* * *

From some indiscernible reason the key just wouldn't fit in the lock. He'd been carelessly trying to shove the object into the brass mould but it wouldn't fit. That is, until common sense hit him like a ton of bricks and he decided to turn the key the right way up. Voila the door opened, showing a half lit, cold, dusty apartment as his prize. He would have laughed could he feel his lips. His face was completely numb from the alcohol to the point where he couldn't tell if he was smiling or frowning.

"Yama!"

A voice called out to him. The subject being addressed was so disoriented that he turned around back into the hallway he'd come from, thinking that the voice had come from that direction. But the hand that grabbed his shoulder from inside the apartment revealed a different result. Yamato's vision was so hazy and unfocused everywhere that his sight scanned over just about everything except for the face of his captor. But from the few glimpses of wild, dark hair and a tanned hand he could have easily guessed who it was.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

His voice sounded surprisingly sober, despite the fact that he was heavily relying on the hand on his shoulder to stop him from falling backwards completely into the open hall. Taichi ignored his unbalanced footing and solely concentrated on the fact that Yamato was now here, in front of him, in what may soon be a vital moment in his life.

"What's important is that I'm here, and that I've been waiting for five fucking hours. Where have you been?"

Taichi tried to pull Yamato into the apartment and close the door, using force when he could obviously see that Yamato wasn't himself. He put a hand to the small of Yamato's back to lead him in. His touch only lasted long enough for him to feel that the thin shirt was soaked through completely to the warm skin beneath.

"You're soaking wet! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Concern completely overtook any kind of anxiety that he had felt before Yamato had arrived. He pawed at the soaking black shirt so to bring it to Yamato's attention, who seemed blind to the fact that his whole body was shivering. He only pushed at Taichi's chest with as much force and false sobriety as he could muster and stormed past him towards his bedroom. Taichi was unfazed by the physical rejection and simply stormed after the retreating head of dripping blond hair. He continued his lecture as Yamato made his way through the home with Taichi trailing behind him.

"I've been worried sick waiting for you! Do you hear me?"

Yamato simply ignored him and had his eyes locked on the open door of his bedroom while he made his way around the living area. Taichi was still talking at him when he reached his room and Yamato had gotten to the point where he needn't bother ignoring Taichi anymore, because he wasn't even aware that he was still talking. That is, until he went to grab his duffel bag from under the bed and Taichi's hand shot out to grab his wrist before he could reach it. In a calm daze, Yamato stared at Taichi's darkened cheeks, hard eyes and the pulsating rises of veins across his neck, each tensing in boiling anger and frustration.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Taichi screamed into him, in no way affecting the serene expression on Yamato's face. In complete calm Yamato easily lifted the hand that was clamped on his wrist, not breaking his eyes away from Taichi.

"No, so you can shut up now."

He used his new hold on Taichi's wrist to guide him to the door of his bedroom, and Taichi was too angry and disoriented to refuse Yamato's physical guidance.

"Then start listening to me, Yama! This is important!"

After having screamed at the top of his lungs, Taichi surprisingly found himself shouting to the paint of Yamato's bedroom door. He hadn't realised he'd been led out of the room, nor that Yamato had closed the door in his face. With a shocked twist of the door handle he discovered that, yes, it was locked. This dismissive indifference that was being shown to him coaxed the fire of rage within him, but he didn't let it take rule over him. He knew that Yamato wouldn't pay proper attention to him if he were blindly swearing and stamping his foot.

"Yama."

He cooed gently, despite the frustration within him that was bouncing against his chest in hopes for a fiery release. Wetting his lips he leant his cheek against the cool surface of the door in hopes that Yamato might hear him better.

"I know that you know what happened last night. I came to my senses this morning and...I think I've reached an important point in my life."

He tried to make his voice sound soft and calm, the burning love he felt for this man melted his anger, which became dripping tears that fell onto his cheeks. He sniffed against the wood of the door; his hands tracing over the grooves and cracks in the wood.

"I've hurt you so much, and you have no idea how sorry I am for everything. No amount of apologies could make up for the shit that I've pulled on you. And I know that you..."

In his room, Yamato wasn't listening to a word being said. He occasionally heard the word 'sorry' being repeated several times, but other than that, Taichi's words were just white noise. He focused on packing his bag with what he could fit into it, not properly thinking about what he needed. When he phoned the cab company he was distracted enough to even forget his address for a few minutes until he checked out of his window to look for the road name.

Several pairs of jeans; fifteen boxer shorts; a few beaten jumpers and shirts; two pairs of shoes; passport; only things that were necessary. He knew that when he got there he could replace most of his things with the new money he'd gotten. And with every item that he packed in his bag, he took a swig from the liquor bottle he'd placed on his night stand, not bothering to think about the repercussions that might come from being drunk in an airport. Airport security be damned, there was no way that he'd be able to go through with this if he was sober.

The tattered duffel bag just about zipped up once it had been filled, and the empty liquor bottle was carelessly thrown out of the window to lay smashed to pieces on the gravel of the parking lot beneath his room. When Yamato lifted the bag that was fit to burst onto his shoulder he drunkenly toppled sideways under the weight before regaining his footing, brushing his hair coolly as though he hadn't just downed two bottles of hard liquor in one hour. The muffled whining that he could hear through the door told him that Taichi was still pouring his heart out and sobbing on the other side, the fact that he had yet to hear any kind of acknowledging reply going unnoticed.

With a last frisk to his pockets to check that he had everything, Yamato stormed over to the locked door and prepared to be mauled by the whining dog that waited for him on the other side. When he unlocked the door her felt a drunken smile twitch at his lips, but suppressed it so to humour Taichi in his attempts at being heartfelt and serious.

Taichi stepped back in surprise once he felt the vibrations of the tumblers working within the lock of the door.

"Yama?"

He questioned to the silhouette at the door, although not sure what it was that he was questioning. By the looks of the blond man before him everything was clear; the wavering of his stance, the full bag wrapped over his shoulder and the winter jacket he held over his arm.

"I don't know why I agreed to be on bottom for all these years. You're the one that cries like a fucking girl."

Yamato hadn't meant for it to come out sounding as spiteful or offensive as it did. He'd just seen his swollen eyes and thought 'Oh Gods. He's going to cry again'. He'd obviously regret the horrible insult once he had sobered up and realised that the look on Taichi's face was of pain and shock. But, for now, he just dismissed the wounded expression of his lover, and the tears that fell anew from his wide eyes. He simply stormed by him towards the front door. Taichi trailed behind him, lingering close enough to smell the remains of smoke on Yamato's skin from the pack of cigarettes that he'd had. He chose not to say anything about the awful habit.

"Where are you going? Weren't you listening to a word I just said? I just poured my heart out to you and-"

"I told you before that I wasn't listening, so it's your own damn fault for wasting your breath on a big speech."

Yamato blurted out, searching through the shoe rack with a shaky sight to find his favourite brogues that he wanted to take with him. Feeling that the swaying of his body was too much to handle Yamato leant back against the wall, falling back harder than he would have liked. Taichi who had watched the ordeal finally clocked on why Yamato seemed so out of character, making insults far too boldly than he would normally.

"Are you drunk?"

He howled incredulously. Yamato turned to him with a laugh.

"Are _you_ drunk?"

He shot back, answering Taichi's question without meaning to. Taichi palmed his face in embarrassment at the intoxicated being before him. Meanwhile, behind the two of them, the form of a drowsy older man stumbled out of his bedroom to investigate what noise had woken him from his unsettled slumber.

"What the fuck is going on? Yamato? What's with the bag?"

With a sigh Taichi turned round to face the bleary eyed man.

"Yamato's drunk, Mr Ishida. I don't think he knows what he's doing."

"Hey!"

Yamato pushed Taichi from behind while he was turned away, not realising the amount of strength he'd used until he saw Taichi stumble onto his knees from the force of the push. He hid any signs that would give away that it was an accident and held to his ground when Taichi looked up at him with confusion. He bent forward so to get a better look into those brown eyes, but not so far that he would lose his balance and topple forward.

"I'm not like you! Even when I'm drunk, I know exactly what I'm doing!"

He gave the surprised Taichi a sharp nudge to the shoulder as he stared him down with solid resolve. His twitching brow and fiery glare hinted the personal attack in his words that was directed at Taichi. If he'd gone that step further to hurt Taichi he would have replaced the 'what' to a 'who' in his statement, but even when he was drunk he knew better than to bring up such an argument when his further was only a few feet away.

Taichi, who was turned on his knees to face Yamato, paled completely at the comment. This person towering over him was not the same Yamato he had come to know over the years. Although Yamato had once been rebellious and hard spoken, this kind of cruelty wasn't the same. Yamato may have spoken this way to a loathed enemy, but never to Taichi. Not even when they fought at their worst did he ever be so blunt and crude. Even his features, though obviously belonging to Yamato, were different in obvious ways, making him look like a stranger to Taichi. The eyes were a distant, empty blue with red tingeing the corners of white, the cheeks sunk and sullen with dark shadows looming across his pasty skin, and thin white lips, crack and stretched into a dark sneer. No; the Yamato that Taichi knew had never been capable of pulling off such a horrid expression.

It hurt to look for too long at Taichi's conflicted face. Though the tears had stopped there was obviously pain behind the dark of his eyes. And Yamato couldn't just see it seeping through the dark orbs, he could feel it. That stern grimace he wore faltered for that second when his heart ached at the sight of Taichi. So, instead of resolving the problem and trying to soothe Taichi's sadness that inadvertently made him sad himself, he simply looked away. With one long step he climbed over Taichi towards his father who was still rubbing his tired eyes in the doorway of his bedroom.

Stumbling in silence with his eyes lowered, Yamato dug around in the pocket of his jacket until he managed to grab a hold of the envelope of money only by luck. He pulled out a handful of notes, not caring to count at all and held them out to his father once he had reached him.

"Don't spend it all at once."

Mr Ishida took the offering more out of reflex than the desire for more money, so the surprise that hit him once he counted the amount stunned him to silence; too stunned to ask the reason for such a donation.

"And this is for you."

Yamato handed another handful to Taichi whose legs still refused to obey him and lift him from his position on the floor. He looked at the hand that held the money, and then to the tired man that offered it. Similar to Yamato's father, he held his hand out for the money out of reflex rather than the want to accept it.

"What's this for?"

"My substitute."

Yamato absently stated and tucked the envelope back into his pocket while he made his way to the door. With every step closer he took to leaving the voice in Taichi's head screamed louder for him to get up and do something. At first when he began to react he could barely stand, desperately scrambling on his knees over to Yamato who was reaching for the door handle. When his fingers snagged the corner of Yamato's winter coat he held to it fast and with all the strength he could, nearly pulling Yamato down with him to the floor.

"Yama, I don't want your money."

He pleaded with a watery voice as he moved his grip onto Yamato's forearm, trying as he could to pull him away from the door. All was in vain. A simple throw of Yamato's arm and Taichi had been pushed away once again, looking into the empty tundra of Yamato's icy glare.

"Really now? You weren't saying that a few days ago."

Silence lingered. Mr Ishida looked on in pain to see his son finally reach the limit that he had been too blind to accept existed. Neither would have admitted to it, but Yamato and his mother were much more alike than they would believe. He looked exactly as she did all those years ago; cold eyes, shaking hands, teeth gritted with such tension that they should have shattered. The only difference being that Natsuko had cried; something that Yamato had not done in a very long time.

Taichi cried in his stead.

Once Yamato saw that Taichi wouldn't be able to stand up for himself in the state that he was in, he lost interest in trying to fight and quickly swiped open the door to leave, not bothering to close it behind him either. This helped to hasten Taichi's exit when he rushed after him, closely followed by Mr Ishida who had completely forgotten that he was still in his sleeping gear.

"Wait!"

Taichi called out, catching up to Yamato as he was diligently descending the metal staircase with his heavy bag and unsteady feet.

"Yama, be reasonable! Please, don't leave when you're drunk. You're not thinking straight. Can't we just have a sober conversation before you storm out? Where are you even going?"

Taichi had wiped his face clear of any tears as he rushed down the stairs after him. The rain still pattered onto the crumbling pavement when they reached the outside. It was thudding melodically onto the heavy body of the car that Yamato had called for. Taichi saw it and panicked. He leapt over the final step and snatched onto a fistful of Yamato's jacket, effectively pulling the unsteady man backwards.

"Please, Yama. I don't want your money. Come over to my apartment, we can talk about this properly and-"

Pain. A bruising pain bloomed over Taichi's cheek and he wobbled to the hard floor when the face of Yamato swirled before him. He'd been hit on the same cheek as the night before, with the same fist. Taichi cringed when he felt the wobble in his back tooth and clutched to his face. Yamato's punches were a lot more painful when he was sober enough to feel them, even if his aim had been slightly off due to his lack of balance.

Yamato hadn't really known why he'd done it. He'd just felt the warmth of Taichi's body approach him and he went into a sort of shock. He was brought out of his trance by the pain in his hand. He hadn't properly formed a fist when he'd punched Taichi, so he knew that he must have damaged one of his fingers.

He looked down to Taichi in a daze. The freckled cheek had already started to swell from the hit he'd given him before, and after this one it had clearly begun to form a bright pink bruise that spread up to his lower eye lid. It sat like a ripe rose upon his face or a stalk of sakura at full bloom. All tears had stopped completely, only the previous wave lingering like morning dew upon the flower. Taichi cupped the discoloration with dead fingers held up by a weak wrist.

In a sort of trance Yamato dropped next to Taichi, allowing his bag to flop onto the wet pavement. He looked to the bruise that peeked between Taichi's fingers with a childish fascination. He reached out slowly for it, forgetting about the waiting cab, his watching father and the water that was slowly beginning to seep into the fabric of his bag. All he cared for was the mark that he was guilty of making.

Taichi had forgiven Yamato's violence before he had even felt its force upon his face. The Yoke within his soul was far more painful than any wavering fist.

Before Yamato's fingers reached him he took hold of his narrow wrist so to lead the hand to his bruised cheek. He felt the sting of the bruise as pressure was applied from Yamato's chilled palm, but he nuzzled it anyway and threaded his hand between his fingers. Like a cooing baby he kissed and stroked the pale hand and wrist, pulling it closer as though he intended to wear it.

Yamato's mind could only conjure the most basic of thoughts while he observed Taichi. Such notions as 'this feels nice' to 'I feel guilty' seemed to flutter about on the empty wind within his head. So with simple actions he sought to satisfy simply needs. In need to rid himself of guilt he needed to eliminate the pained look on Taichi's face. And as a means to do that he decided to kiss him. If he'd known that even a small kiss would have made it worse he wouldn't have done it in the first place.

After the instant of contact between their lips, the ice that had frozen Taichi to the spot shattered and he leapt into the kiss with full force. While Yamato was hunched forward on his knees, practically motionless, Taichi was pawing at his yellow hair and rubbing at his neck in such a way that an observer might think that he was contemplating wringing it. He didn't wait for any kind of response and forced his way into the cavern of his lover's mouth, hoping to evoke something with the friction of his tongue against the other. Yamato tasted like tobacco and an array of alcohols but Taichi found himself unable to care. He just wanted to kiss him like this. Hold him like this. And keep him here always, like this. He didn't even know where Yamato was planning on going, and yet it felt like he was never going to see him again. It didn't matter if Yamato was just leaving to go to the store, Taichi just couldn't find the will to let him go. So Yamato found it for him.

With a gentle caress down his chiselled jaw Taichi seemed to calm down, and with the moment of peace Yamato drew away slowly. His will seemed absolute to Taichi. There was no struggle from him when Yamato banished him from the warmth of his lips. He just stared into hazed blue eyes that got further and further away as Yamato stood up, like an island that would fade from sight as he got further and further out to sea. The pale yet rough hand only finally withdrew from his face when it became out of reach once he stood to his full height.

Taichi was so mesmerised by Yamato's expression that he didn't see him pick up the bag, or walk backwards to the door of the cab, or even when he opened it. It wasn't until the stricken face was sheeted by a car window did he wake up to the situation.

"Yama!"

His fingers scraped upon the cold metal hip of the cab before it raced off with the man he loved caged within its stomach. He was set on the balls of his feet to chase after it, thinking he might be able to head it off at the stop lights, but a heavy hand loosely cupped his arm. He was so on edge that he practically jumped away from Mr Ishida like he was a predator set on him. He was met only by a tired smirk.

"Don't worry, Taichi. He's probably just going to stay at a hotel for a few days or something. He'll call soon enough. He used to do this all the time. He'll come back when he's stopped sulking."

Now that most of the drama was over the older man felt far more exhausted than he had when he went to bed. He left Taichi to stare at the tire tracks on the pavement as he shuffled back to the stairs and tightened his dressing gown around the bulge of his stomach. All the while Taichi stood with his eyes to the cab that had faded completely within the reflective glimmer of the Odaiba street lights on the remains of a rainstorm.

* * *

**OKAY! I NEED YOU'RE HELP! I'm in trouble right now so I need the readers' opinions =/**

**In my old version of the fic there were a lot of original characters, which is the main reason why I discontinued it and started again. I dislike too many OCs in the fics I read so I assume that the public think the same, right? I mean, you read a fanfic to get a story mainly about your favourite characters, and no matter how well designed and original these OCs are, I just can't seem to care for them too much. So, THIS IS WHERE YOU LOT COME IN!**

**Yamato is going to have sex with someone other than Taichi at some point (don't hate me for it)**

**So I need you guys to tell me which male character you would most like to put in bed with Yamato. Personally I love JyouxYamato but I know that it isn't to a lot of people's preferences. Also, it can't be Daisuke, because he's already got a role in this fic.**

**So leave a review telling me your desired person, then I'll add it all up and do the writing. Kay?**

**After that, I won't really need any more tips and stuff, so you get to just sit back and enjoy all the angsty drama that I have in store.**

**Thankyou so much to all the people that have reviewed**

**Kirakira  
PantomBoo  
Arrienete  
KoumiLoccness  
Sumi19  
TheVideoGameResearcher  
fallingleaf1111  
Ninor-san  
terracannon876  
Poetic Dancer  
Kairin**

**It's awesome guys like you that keep me writing =D**

**Also, I just thought that it'd be fun for you to know that I got that quote about hippies from my Dad. Ironically I was a bit of a hippie at the time, but it made me laugh XD  
Okay, it's very late, I've been working on this chapter for weeks, and I've worn myself out from playing in the snow so I'm going to bed now. (I made my first ever life size snowman XD There's finally snow in London. About damn time we got our share!)**

**Laterrrz people. I haven't proof read because it's too long, but if you see mistakes, please tell me about them so I can fix them.**

**Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper**

**x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning, this fic is M for a reason.**

**Contains underage drinking, mentioning of substance abuse, violence, swearing and "rumpy-pumpy"**

**Money and Martyrdom**

* * *

"Hey, Yama, watch this!"

With a gleam of baby white teeth and a throw of his head a ten year old boy threw his arms into the air and allowed his bike to cruise down the slight slope of the road, trusting whatever force controlled the air around him to guide his bike safely.

"No hands!"

He cackled and yipped as he began to pick up speed as the decline became steeper. Another boy that looked on from his seat on the edge of the pavement, nearly small enough to swing his legs, jumped up in panic when he saw the wobbling of the bike's handle bars.

"Tai, be careful!"

Thick, dark hair framed plump cheeks that pinched as Taichi's face stretched into a wider smile. He blew kisses at the struck blonde boy who had been waving his hands about in hopes that he could deter the cyclist from crashing into something. Yamato soon discovered that he needn't have bothered trying to warn his friend when he watched the bike roll completely sideways once the front wheel had struck a pothole. Yamato's lungs were brought to their brink at his terrified gasp when he saw the hands that had been so carelessly waving and flailing in play were wrapped around the tanned boy's head as the bicycle fell away from beneath him.

He released a choked scream when Taichi's head hit the pavement and the bike collapsed on top of him.

"Tai!"

As he dashed to the fallen boy he panicked over what to do. His apartment was the closest to them, but his Dad wasn't home, and Taichi's Mum was taking his sister to day care. Taichi still lay there with his hands curled around his head and his bike blanketing him. He was shaking.

"Tai, are you okay?"

Yamato crouched down beside him and shook his shoulders gently. Taichi's shaking became more violent, and his shoulders rumbled where Yamato had placed his hands.

But when he turned over, there was no pain in his expression. He's body had been rattling from laughter and the toothsome grin had held on to his face, hardly deterred by the few droplets of blood that splattered onto his cheeks from the cut on his head. He continued to laugh while Yamato's face, now outraged instead of worried, loomed over him.

"You idiot!"

Yamato smacked him on the shoulder, embarrassed that he had been so concerned. His cheeks were tingling where the blood had surfaced to colour his face. He looked away stubbornly with a tightened jaw.

"I thought you were dead or something."

Wiping the tears from his eyes Taichi sat up and pushed his bike off from on top of him. His smile stayed as he watched his pale companion fish in the pockets of his ripped jeans for the plasters he kept there. They were always of use whenever Taichi was involved in his play. Taichi cringed and squirmed while Yamato wiped away the trail of blood from his face and roughly applied the novelty plaster, wanting to inflict a bit of pain on Taichi as punishment for being so careless. He gave a quick nod in satisfaction and concluded his treatment with another slap to Taichi, this time on his head.

"You're lucky you've got a head like a rock."

He muttered and held his hand out for Taichi to take. Taichi grabbed it and bounced up with much more energy than he looked to possess, especially now that his face was dotted with scratches, and the skin of his knees was slashed and raw. He held tightly to his friend's hand while he reached down with his other hand to pull up his bicycle by the dented handle.

"But it was so fun! It felt like I was flying! You've got to have a go."

With the bike now upright he began rolling it back up the hill, with a struggling Yamato pulling against the grip on his hand.

"No way! A normal person would be dead if they knocked their head like that. I have too much to live for!"

"Shut up, Yama, it's not that bad. I'll hold the bike for you so you don't fall."

"No, Tai! I'm serious!"

Taichi ignored Yamato's complaints. He had always been able to sway his friend into playing along with him, so why would it be any different now? Yama would give in eventually. And he would have fun too. Then, when he got all scratched up, Taichi could put him back together.

"Tai! Let go! I mean it!"

"Stop being such a scaredy cat."

Yamato thrashed his head, throwing about the golden threads of his hair to form a silken cocoon around his head. But other than that he wasn't truly resisting. There was no force to the pulls he made at Taichi's hand on him. In fact, he nearly leant into the other boy's touch as they made their way up the hill. But, for the sake of saving face he pretended to resist. He repeated Taichi's name with every pull.

"Tai!"

His voice became softer, mistier, as if he were fading away.

"Tai!"

The feel of Yamato's arm in Taichi's hand began to soften, and Taichi found himself clenching his own fist, Yamato's arm evaporating into a wisp of smoke. He let go of the bike and let it roll down the hill where it disappeared into a black void.

"Taichi!"

The gravel hill melted away beneath his scuffed trainers and he found himself falling through darkness. But not for long. The impact was onto a soft surface. His whole body jolted.

"Taichi!"

Taichi blinked lazily, first seeing nothing but a hazy smog of colour. But when it began to clear he wished that he had never opened his eyes. There was no road. No bike. No blonde hair. No blue eyes. Just a lumpy green sofa cushion covered his sight. Taichi rubbed the back of his head where he felt his pulse pounding beneath the thick, knotted hair. It was so strange. For a moment he almost thought he could hear...

"Taichi!"

A muted voice and a rhythm of fists pounding on the front door invaded him. He didn't want to answer it. Sleep was reaching for his hand to lead him back to the road of tightly packed apartments on the bumpy hill, where his dented bike lay on the ground waiting for its rider, and a boy, the embodiment of innocence, sat on the curb with a crown upon his head and roses on his cheeks. They were all waiting for him. All he needed to do was close his-

"Taichi, open up! I know you're in there!"

Growling, he pushed up onto his knees and every joint creaked and ached from movement. His sleep had been so solid and deep that not a single nerve had twitched during his slumber. Movement felt foreign. He cringed when he ran his tongue over his dry teeth. Something bitter lingered there that he didn't really want to think about.

An empty can of beer fell off the sofa at the same time as when he stood up and the sound of the aluminium clattering on the wooden floor sounded like war drums to him. With every heavy drop of his feet on the floor he would crush something; an empty can, an extinguished cigarette, a half eaten piece of food, there were even pieces of glass still embedded between the floorboards from the bottle he'd smashed the night before. He couldn't remember how half of the mess had been made.

"Taichi!"

Those fists were thrown against the door again. He felt as though he were inside a drum. He could barely hear the sounds, but he could feel the vibrations in the air surge through him as though he were a buoy upon a reckless wave. He fell against the door and ripped it open.

"What do you want from me?"

He growled before the person at the door even came into focus of his vision.

Sora stood there, startled, midway through bringing her fist upon the door, and far more stunning than Taichi remembered her to be. Her vixen locks hung about her face lazily, and a light powder roofed her amber eyes. She was wearing a dress. He couldn't remember ever seeing her in one before. But it certainly suited her. She was a woman before him now, with curves now grooved into her once innocent and blank body. Had he been asleep long enough for this transition to occur? Or had it happened while he was awake without him realising?

On Sora's mind was something similar, but not nearly as complimentary. Taichi was stunning for an entirely different reason, especially while his shirt was dirty enough to look grey when it had been white when he'd first put it on. She could smell him from a foot away too. She straightened her surprised expression, brushing down the pleats of her dress as though she were brushing off the moment of hesitation.

His bloodshot eyes drooped asymmetrically, like a dozing dog in the summer heat; his skin had dulled as a result of his new nocturnal lifestyle.

"You look like shit."

She said bluntly, as though it wasn't so much a criticism as an obvious fact. He stayed silent, just standing in the doorway staring at her. She looked him dead in his dull orbs and spoke again.

"Smell like it too."

"Can I help you?"

He butted in with an irritated snarl. He was tired, he wanted a shower and a lot of painkillers, and it just seemed like she was standing in his doorway with the intent to humiliate him further.

Sora sighed at his sharp response and rolled her eyes.

"You wouldn't answer your phone, so I came over to tell you that everyone's coming over to my place for drinks tonight and we want you to come."

"I can't."

"Why? Are you busy?"

"No. Hung over."

"Then sober up and drop by. Whether you're drinking or not we want you there."

"I'll think about it."

He waited, leaning against the door, for her to say her goodbyes and leave him so that he could ignore her invitation once again and just go back to sleeping on the sofa. But she didn't do anything of the sort. She just stood there, pulling at the shoulder strap of her dress and swooping her eyes over him. Her lips were twisted almost into a spiral as she bit into the skin of her gums. After a while of Taichi observing Sora observe him, she shook her head with a grunt and pushed past him to get into his apartment. He was too weak and sick to stop her.

"I just can't do it."

She growled and kicked aside the beer cans on the floor. The loud rattle shook Taichi to his bones and he held his head in pain. It felt as though someone was rattling heavy chains against the inner walls of his brain.

He closed the door and stumbled after her while she picked up the cans from the floor.

"Can't do what?"

He asked in a cracking voice that sounded like it belonged to a boy half his age. Sora dropped the cans into the bin, making Taichi flinch again. She kept her face to the living room to observe the mess instead of looking him in the eye.

"I can't leave you alone while you're this pathetic."

Taichi couldn't really take it as an insult. He knew what his condition must look like to her, so her comment was at least justified. He stood by the door, uncertain what to do when Sora stood there with an expression of disapproval wrinkling her still young face.

"Go take a shower, put some clean clothes on and grab your shoes. I'm buying you dinner."

"Dinner? But it's only..."

He looked to the clock set above the small box television he had resting on a stool against the wall. He'd expected it to be no later than two o'clock. The clock said five.

"Oh..."

"Yes, 'oh'. It's five o'clock. I'm giving you thirty minutes to get your stuff together."

He nodded shakily and stumbled to his bedroom, muttering over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Sora."

The young woman watched him struggle to walk until his bedroom door blocked her view when closed. She picked up an empty pizza box from the floor and sighed sadly.

"You must be really hung over to thank me for doing this."

She tossed the box onto the kitchen counter and looked around the room. From her position she could tell thatt it was going to takke much more than a quick visit to make the apartment look livable again.

* * *

When he was like this some people might think that he was happy. He certainly looked it. When a joke was told he laughed, realistically, and with his whole body. When he looked at someone he met their eyes with his own, and those eyes were bright and awake, no traces of red bleeding into the corners. Every smile stretched wide, every word spoken passed his lips without delay or falter. He was more than willing to engage in physical contact, be it a slap to the back or the simple brush of a hand when someone passed him his drink.

He'd said that he wouldn't drink, but he did anyway. Four beers was nothing to him. Nothing. He was fine if not happier than he would have been if sober. He leant heavily against Sora as he laughed again, jutting against her with his shoulders as they shuddered. The atmosphere had become more nostalgic and conversation had diminished into nothing deeper than recounting old stories.

"And then, there was that time when we camped out next to the highway."

Sora recalled, and they all nodded with distant smiles on their faces. Then, after having another sip of his fifth beer, Taichi butted in.

"Yeah, I remember that Mimi ended up running off home because the car noises gave her a headache."

"You make it sound like I'm a killjoy. You guys were so drunk you probably didn't notice I was even missing."

Mimi pouted and took a sip of her gin and tonic while the others chuckled into their own drinks. A comfortable silence followed, where all of them thought over the old times of underage drinking, water fights, sitting in the park after school when it was still hot, gorging on fast food and taking blurry pictures together on the train.

Sora laughed quietly and ran her fingers through Taichi's hair as she put her wine glass on the coffee table by her feet.

"This is fun. We need to meet up like this more often."

She sighed and leant back into the sofa. Mimi smiled as well and looked over the old faces surrounding her.

"Yeah, I've missed all of you. We haven't all been together like this since-"

She broke off suddenly, and all attention turned to her to finish her sentence. She seemed to be struggling, and looked with a guilty grimace towards Taichi.

"...since..."

"Since Yamato disappeared, right?"

Taichi finished for her. All eyes were turned on him now, each of his friends silently asking if it was alright to continue this conversation. It had been a sensitive topic for a long time. Taichi put his beer on the table next to Sora's glass and pulled himself off of her shoulder.

"If you guys are trying to keep quiet about this for my sake then don't. It's pathetic. His name isn't like some kind of taboo or anything. The last time we all got together was when Yamato was with us. We went to that crappy bar to buy Izzie his first drink."

Izzie, sitting stiffly in the reclining chair in the corner, nodded and clutched his glass of water.

"I remember that. I didn't even want to drink."

Sora laughed, hoping that this story would brighten the mood a bit.

"Teenage rebellion is all a part of growing up. That bartender didn't catch on at all, even though you were shaking so much that he missed the first few times he went to grab the money."

Izzie mumbled shyly and looked towards some dust in the top corner of the room.

Mimi pointed to Izzie with a jesting smirk. The red lipstick on her lips had faded to patches of pink now that most of it was stuck to the rim of her glass.

"So, if you didn't actually want to drink anything that night, how comes you kept going back to the bar? Fancy the bartender, eh? I didn't think hairy biker was your type, Izzie."

Izzie hesitated to answer.

"I was...buying drinks for Yamato. He was short on money that night."

Another silence. This time it wasn't comfortable. It felt forced. Being the one that had said the least so far in the evening, Jyou chose it as his time to speak up.

"That was before he got his second job, wasn't it?"

Mimi gulped down the rest of her drink and spoke up. She sounded like her old self again, with a whining tone to her voice and a volume that demanded the attention of everyone in the room.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I don't want this evening to become some kind of memorial service or anything, but I have to say that...I really miss Yamato."

There were a few nods and mumbled agreements. Taichi held his jaw stiff and crossed his arms, stepping back from the conversation.

"I mean, it's ridiculous that we've been dodging the subject for practically two years now and it's just not fair. No offence, Taichi, but I want to be able to think about how much I miss him without feeling guilty for doing so."

"Why would I take offence to that?"

He said snappily. She furrowed her brows and raised the pitch of her voice, angry that he was fighting back.

"Because it seemed like every time someone even made the suggestion that he existed you would just go into this brooding silence or walk out of the room. Or if you were drunk you'd just go into a fit."

"Well, I'm sorry. But I'm practically sober right now, so if you want to talk about him then go ahead. I won't stop you."

"That's not fair!"

"What? I said you could talk about him!"

"I know, but you said it in a way that's making me feel guilty."

"Is there a way that I can say it that won't make you feel guilty?"

Mimi stopped talking back, sick of Taichi's sarcastic tone. Sora brushed back her hair and edged away from Taichi on the sofa. This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid happening when she invited everyone over. Yamato's name did nothing but upset everyone, especially when Taichi was within earshot.

Taichi rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, releasing some of the tension in his face with a long, growling exhale.

"How would it make you feel if I was the one that started the conversation?"

Now calm and with the glass she'd been holding safely set on the table, Mimi shook her head. She didn't wanting to raise conflict knowing that Taichi would always get his way when they fought.

"Taichi, I'm really sorry. You don't have to-"

"All your talk about feeling guilty is making _me_ feel guilty. I don't want to deprive you guys of talking about him. I want to be able to think about him too."

He looked off to an empty space and picked up his beer to take another mouthful and set it back on the table. It took him a moment to work up the courage to speak, but the beer helped him along. He leant against his knees with his head resting in the balls of his palms.

"I miss him like fucking crazy...and it hurts sometimes to think about him not being here. But that doesn't mean that I want to stop thinking about him all together."

Sora slowly edged back towards him to rest her arm on his back. He didn't pull away like he usually did when she tried to comfort him.

* * *

_Heavy feet pounded on the soggy carpet; those shots of Sake had already managed to fill the space between his brain and skull. But the night was still so young. There were still so many more drinks to try; songs to dance to; strangers to grope. Every pound of the bass that blasted from the stereo reverberated through his chest. His shoulders jolted with every thrash of the drums, and his knees shaking along with the melody, urging him to move with the song no matter how he resisted. He was on a mission at that moment and no catchy song or flirt of bare flesh could distract him. He'd arrived about twenty minutes ago and he was still looking for anybody that he knew. In the living room there was only a swarm of stale strangers, congregating around a table of free liquor. He'd introduced himself to a couple of them and helped himself to a beer, but he wasn't enjoying himself at all. Yamato was the only reason he'd come to this stupid gathering, and he couldn't find the guy anywhere._

_The garden was scattered with groups of people passing round drinks in a circle. It looked almost like a cult ritual of sharing wine, except that instead of robes they all wore ripped sportswear, and the wine was replaced with cheap spirits._

_The beating bass from the stereo dulled once he'd stepped out onto the patio. Thinking that he might as well take a break from looking for his friend he drew a cigarette from his pocket and placed it in his lips while scouting the garden for someone he might know. He flicked his thumb over the chequered lighter that Yamato had bought him and deeply inhaled the tobacco smoke, exhaling towards the sky to watch the smoke flutter over the low fence. He wasn't one to smoke normally, but ever since Yamato started he found himself craving one every so often. Perhaps it was because he related the scent to his best friend. After all, he made sure to buy the exact same brand as Yamato._

_"Ah, Taichi!"_

_He heard the voice call from behind him and, finally, a face he recognised emerged from behind the curtain of swaying people in the living room. Shinji stumbled a bit on his way over to him, but other than that he showed no signs of how drunk he really was since he was typically one to start drinking several hours before even deciding to show up to a party._

_"Hey, Taiiichi. Wats'up?"_

_He slurred and swung his arm around Taichi's neck clumsily, not intending to choke him but doing so anyway. Taichi shrugged moodily, still pissed off that he'd been left by himself for so long during the party._

_"Nothing. Where's Yama?"_

_"In the bathroom, helping Yuki. She was this close to throwing up on his shoes."_

_Taichi cringed back while chuckling at the image that struck him. He didn't particularly mind bodily functions and the fluids that came hand in hand with them, but he knew that a certain blonde, self proclaimed "cool guy" with a girly scream couldn't stand his own spit in his mouth let alone another person's vomit._

_"I'm gonna go find him."_

_Shinji laughed in an obnoxious, overly dramatic way that told of the four beers and bottle of sake that he'd drank before he came. Then, as Taichi threw down his cigarette onto the beer stained patio to go inside, Shinji waddled off into the garden towards a group of people and called back to him with another humorous bout._

_"Yami's face was fucking white! You'd of thought that she threw up blood or something."_

_With a final throw of his head he stumbled off, announcing greetings to fellow young'uns with blank faces and overflowing cups._

_Wasting no time to watch the fire of his cigarette dim Taichi marched back indoors, feeling his stomach coil and flop with frustration as he tried to push through the crowd. He might as well have been trying to clear a path through water, as he pushed one person away another fell back. But he found the toilet eventually; the scratched white door that had the word "shitter" written on it in permanent marker by some asshole who thought it was funny._

_The door wasn't locked. He turned the knob easily and began to push it open. But before he could peek his head through the crack between the door and its frame it was slammed shut. He barely managed to escape with the end of his nose._

_"Occupied!"_

_Someone announced from the other side of the door with a nervous voice. Embarrassment aside, he was just glad that he recognised the voice and he hadn't been close to intruding a stranger's privacy. He heaved an exaggerated sigh and cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the door, thinking it would amplify his voice or some scientific bullshit like that._

_"Yama, it's me! Open up!"_

_Beneath the layer of bass line, stamping feet and slurred conversations Taichi could hear shuffling coming from the other side of the door, followed by grumbling, rattling, splashing water, and finally a croaky voice asking him to come in, spoken with obvious reluctance._

_He opened the door slowly, still silently asking if it was alright to enter after he could hear more splashing liquid that echoed in the toilet bowl. The first thing he saw was the grass stains on Yuki's ass that was raised in his direction as she spat the vomit from behind her bubblegum pink lips. One hand gripped the seat, and the other was lowered to her side to grip on Yamato's arm, which looked paler than normal with the lack of blood flowing through it. He was wedged in the small crease of space between the toilet and the wall of the small bathroom, and not looking too well himself. He waved stiffly with his free hand._

_"Hey."_

_Taichi said over the remaining music that waved in through the door before he shut it behind him. Then he bent around the curve of Yuki's ass to have a look at her grey face._

_"Hi, Yuki."_

_"Hey, Taich-"_

_She cut off to lurch into the toilet to heave. Nothing came out but Yamato still shivered in disgust and closed his eyes, wishing he was absolutely anywhere else in the world to deter himself from emptying his own stomach._

_Seeing that Yamato obviously wasn't handling the situation all too well Taichi decided to step in._

_"Do you need me to call your mum, Yuki?"_

_She shook her head, letting the bleached tips of her hair brush against the toilet seat and hiccupped._

_"Sh-She thinks I'm at a slee-sleepover."_

_"Then you should go upstairs and lie down."_

_Yamato nudged Taichi's leg with the toe of his trainers to get his attention._

_"There were a few couples up there when I went to check, and they got themselves pretty comfortable."_

_Taichi coughed awkwardly and leant against the door._

_"Did she come here with anybody?"_

_"Yeah. Satsuki. I used Yuki's phone to call her a few times but I didn't get an answer. I left a few messages and texts though."_

_"Why not go look for her?_

_Yamato sighed and pointed to Yuki's grip on his arm. If her nails were any longer they would have been ripping into his bones by the looks of it. The skin that her fingers dug into had already changed from pink to white to almost blue. Taichi "aahh'd" in understanding. Yuki in the meantime heaved again and this time something most definitely came out. A flood of chunky, slimy, thick, beige liquid poured down her chin. It seemed impossible for such a...substance to come out of such a delicate little girl. When some splashback formed a puddle between his splayed legs, Yamato covered his mouth and made his own gagging noise. His look to Taichi was of agony. Those dove eyes were begging, 'help me!'_

_Taichi straightened up and set to being the hero._

_"I'll go find Sat-"_

_He'd intended on rushing out of the bathroom, finding Satsuki, and dragging her back so that she could take Yamato's place looking after Yuki. But when he turned to leave his open mouth became a splinter motel when he got a face full of door. The person from the other side had ruthlessly rammed it open into his teeth._

_"Sorry! Is Yuki in there?"_

_Rubbing his thumb over his aching teeth Taichi backed up into a corner to create enough space for the door to open._

_"Yuki!"_

_A waft of vanilla perfume and a sheet of silky black hair blew through the door and dived towards the young girl heaving over the toilet._

_"Ah, Satsuki, thank God you're here."_

_Taichi heard Yamato sigh and closed the door behind Satsuki so that he might have some space to breathe in the cupboard they called a bathroom. He was crushed back against the closed door, with Yuki's heels digging into his shins while bent over the toilet, Satsuki's shoulder alarmingly close to the...centre region of his lower half, and Yamato, half crushed into the wall, had his feet planted against the door to the left of Taichi's legs._

_Satsuki apologised over and over again while she moved around to help Yuki while she threw up. She stepped on Yamato's toe, elbowed Taichi's thigh and almost fell into the toilet when she caught her heel on the corner of Yamato's jacket. Once she got comfortable she spoke to Yamato over Yuki's gagging._

_"Is she okay?"_

_"Yeah, just drunk, I think. Do you mind if I leave her in your hands now? I don't think I'm much help."_

_"Y-Yeah, that's fine. Thanks Yamato."_

_She helped him escape from the claws of Yuki's grip with some gentle coaxing and Yamato let out a pained hiss when he saw the crescent indents on his arm. But then came the hardest part...actually getting out. Taichi could see Yamato calculating how the hell he was going to get up without having to dip has hand into the toilet as a form of leverage. It was funny at first, but when two minutes passed and the poor boy was still stuck he decided it was time do the right thing and help him._

_"Need a hand partner?"_

_Taichi laughed and, without waiting for an answer, grabbed onto Yamato's collar and hauled him up the same way you'd pick up a cat by the scruff of its neck. Yamato was resistant out of embarrassment at first, but once he was on his legs he bashfully muttered a thank you. Taichi opened the door and felt like he could breathe again with the added space and the smell of something other than Yuki's vomit. He stepped out and held the door open to Yamato who spoke to Satsuki as he edged around her._

_"If you need any more help I'll be in the garden."_

_"Thanks, Yamato. Sorry about all of this."_

_Pulling Yuki's hair away from her dripping mouth, Satsuki then turned to Taichi with a coy smile._

_"Bye Taichi. Sorry about hitting you."_

_"S'okay. Later."_

_With a salute Taichi closed the door on the two girls gently. Yamato stood at his side rubbing at the marks on his arm in aggravation._

_"Well, aren't you ever the gentleman, Yama?"_

_"Shut up! I tried to escape so many times but she wouldn't let go."_

_His arm was tingling where the blood was beginning to flow freshly down the passages. Taichi took hold of the pale arm to inspect the marks for himself. They were an angry red now, not suited for such fair skin where they were most prominent._

_"Looks like she had claws."_

_He muttered more to himself because there was no way for Yamato to have heard him over the music coming from the room next to them. Before Yamato could take back his arm Taichi gave him a quick pinch where he was able to grab some skin. With a yelp Yamato shook him off._

_"What was that for?"_

_"I've been calling you for half an hour. Why didn't you answer?"_

_"You have?"_

_Shaking off the pain in his arm Yamato used his other hand to dig into his jean pocket. It was empty and his expression revealed that just as much as his quiet curse. He checked the pocket on the opposite side, the pockets at the back, his jacket._

_"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-"_

_After thoroughly shaking out his jacket he turned to Taichi with his face almost as red as the marks on his arm._

_"My phone's gone!"_

_"Seriously? Have you checked all your pockets?"_

_"Yes! It's gone!"_

_"Did you drop it? Where were you before?"_

_"I was outside with Shinji until Yuki came and threw up next to me. Then I just escorted her to the bathroom."_

_He shivered at the memory and scrubbed imaginary dirt off of his arms._

_"Ah, this sucks balls! I bet some jackass picked my pocket."_

_Beneath the dimmed lights in the hall Yamato's face was almost glowing with red, his veins visibly pulsating in his brow. Taichi carefully placed an arm around his shoulder, as though he were trying to calm a snarling dog._

_"Come on, I'm getting you a drink before you burst a blood vessel in your face."_

_"Shut up!"_

_Shinji was still in the garden where Taichi had left him, although his posture had deteriorated more with every drink. He was leaning completely on the stranger next to him and his feet shuffled dangerously as he tried to stay upright. As soon as Yamato spotted Shinji amongst the small group of people he was pushing away from Taichi's arm and jogging over to him._

_"Shinji! Where's your drink?"_

_The boy rolled his eyes lazily towards Yamato who was approaching him. Shinji held said 'drink' in his hand, a clear liquid deceptively disguised in a water bottle. No one knew what Shinji had mixed in it. The guy probably didn't even know himself. All anyone knew was that it was dangerously alcoholic, just like any of his other drink mixes. He shakily held it out to the blonde boy who stood next to him._

_"It's here. We haven't opened it ye-"_

_Yamato snatched it from him as soon as he set his eyes on it. He unscrewed the lid with almost violent intent, as though he were wringing a man's neck instead of opening a bottle. He drank it like water, though his tightly clenched eyes revealed that the liquid burned as he poured it down his throat._

_"Woah, woah, slow down!"_

_Taichi pulled it off him before he drank more than half of it. As though the bottle had been sucking him in, when Yamato was relieved of it he flew back as though released from a force. He coughed into his elbow with a maniac's smile and spluttered._

_"Oh Shi-it."_

_"No more for you."_

_Taichi ordered, brushing off the alcohol that had dropped onto his shirt. Yamato nodded, barely listening, while putting a cigarette between his lips. It looked like he was trying to do an impression of the Godfather when he was lighting it. His face was screwed up in concentration and his jaw clenched to keep the cigarette steady in his mouth while he waved the flame of his lighter over the end._

_Taichi lifted the bottle of drink to his nose. Just the smell of it made his eyes water and it reminded him of so many times when he'd woken up smelling much the same, combined with a bit of vomit and sweat for added pungency. He hesitated to raise it to his lips. He knew without needing to think that there was no going back after the first sip. Just a taste of Shinji's drink and he would be laughing and crying for the rest of the night._

_"Ah, thank you."_

_Before Taichi could take a sip Shinji had snatched it. He watched, helplessly licking his lips as Shinji took a few gulps, then passed the bottle onto the next person, then they took a sip and passed it to the next and so forth, until an empty bottle was placed back in his hands._

_"You drank the rest of it?"_

_Yamato laughed next to him with a half burnt cigarette flapping between his lips. Taichi turned, prepared to explain, but his jaw muscles just stopped working all of a sudden. Had he been any more drunk this picture wouldn't have had nearly as dramatic an effect on him. But, being still kind of sober, the sight of the other boy had his tongue rolling out of his mouth._

_Yamato was leaning on his own cocked hip looking as though the consumed spirits had already gotten to work on his system. His eyes were hazed and there was a stain of red across his face. It wasn't a particularly attractive colour when combined with his drunken smirk, but...the alcohol soaked t-shirt that rode every dip and arch of his chest, outlining the peaks of his nipples and the valley of his belly button, made that blush seem very different. Almost...sexual._

_Taichi choked on whatever noises he'd been trying to make as Yamato took the empty bottle from him, brushing their fingers in the process. Yamato stared through the clear plastic, hunting for any kind of leftovers._

_"You asshole, you didn't leave me any."_

_He laughed and slapped Taichi's shoulder. Taichi pouted and took back the bottle._

_"Don't be mean."_

_He rubbed his shoulder where Yamato hit it. It didn't hurt, but for some reason it felt tingly._

_"There are more drinks inside if you want me to get you one."_

_Yamato shook his head and heavily rested on Taichi's shoulder, one arm curled around Taichi's neck and the other resting on his hip in the small gap of skin between the end of his t-shirt and the start of his jeans._

_"Nah, that's okay. If I drink too quickly then I'll just fall asleep."_

_Taichi coughed and turned away when he felt Yamato's wet shirt brush against his bare arm._

_"A-Alright then, about your phone; it could have fallen out of your pocket while you were helping Yuki. Why don't we call it and see if we can hear it?"_

_"Sounds like a plan. I'm ready when you are."_

_Taichi fished his own cell phone from his pocket and dialled the first number on his speed dial; Yamato's number. They couldn't hear anything at first, there was too much chatter in the garden. But then a recognisable tune floated towards them; a polyphonic version of a J-Rock song that was obviously Yamato's ringtone. No one else of their generation still owned a phone cheap enough to have a polyphonic ringtone._

_Yamato and Taichi listened out for the sound and followed it cautiously, as though it would run away if they came after it too quickly. It wasn't coming from indoors, thank God, but the back of the garden in the corner, where a couple were feeling each other up on the grass._

_Yamato, now sufficiently liquored up, threw reason out of a metaphorical window and approached the two._

_"Hey!"_

_The guy rolled over and took only one of his hands out from underneath the girl's dress, not that she really cared, she was barely conscious by the looks of it. Taichi was almost regretting having come up with this plan now. Yamato's eyes were too unsteady to see that this guy was way too old to be at a teenage party...nearly looking like a threat. No matter. Even if they were both sober they'd probably still recklessly face this jackass. They didn't even have an excuse as to why. Taichi and Yamato were just like that, which was why they were perfect company for each other._

_Yamato crossed his arms and puffed out his chest as he looked down on the creep._

_"My phone is in your pocket."_

_His tone was sarcastically polite, obvious malice behind the hiss of his words. The man made a voice in his throat and stared up through the wet string that was his overhanging hair._

_"Why would I have your phone?"_

_"I don't know. You could have 'picked it up by accident' or something, but I would like it back please."_

_"I don't have your phone. Fuck off."_

_He rolled back over and started making out with the poor girl's chin while she just lazily rolled into it. When the tune from Yamato's phone died down Taichi dialled the number again and, on cue, it rang again. The boys could even see the lit up screen of his phone through the thin back pocket that held it. Yamato nudged the back of the guy's legs firmly with the toe of his sneakers. This time, the guy was actually mad enough to stop molesting the girl and sit upright. Yamato looked him straight in the eye with Taichi supporting him over his shoulder._

_"Give me my phone back."_

_The guy chuckled and stood up, revealing his true height of being...a lot taller than they both expected. Taichi edged a little closer to his friend, prepared to jump to his aid if anything set off. On the other hand, Yamato was unfazed by the guy's size and simply rolled his shoulders, nonchalant._

_"What's a little faggot like you going to do about it, huh? You gonna take it from me?"_

_He laughed and nudged the heel of his palm into Yamato's shoulder._

_"If you won't hand it over nicely, then yes, I will take it."_

_"Give me your best hit, pussy!"_

_The big guy dived first, looking from afar like a lion pouncing on a gazelle. With a sweep of his arm Yamato knocked away the hands that reached for his neck and with his other hand delivered a swift punch to the guy's jaw. Yamato wasn't particularly strong, but he was damn fast. His punches weren't forceful, but they came rapidly, one after another, and in large quantities, aimed to wear the guy out. In comparison every swing of the larger man's fists and legs were pulsating with raw strength, but they were slow, poorly aimed, and Yamato was able to easily dodge._

_A crowd formed suddenly around them, with slurred spurring and shouts being fired at the fighting two. Taichi was one of them, pumping his fist in the air and cheering on his best friend._

_"Kick his ass, Yama!"_

_The larger fighter stumbled for a second when Yamato slammed an elbow into his head. But he recovered freakishly quickly; just a shake of his head and he was completely focused again. Yamato barely had a chance to dodge the next punch, only evading enough for it to land on his shoulder instead of his face. It fucking hurt though. It really fucking hurt. Like someone had slammed a hot iron into his shoulder. After that point, Yamato gave up on looking cool in this fight; no more flashy moves to show off to the onlookers or sly hits to wear down the brute's ego. He fought raw from now on._

_After that first punch to his shoulder, Yamato's speed went down by 20%, and he found himself unsuspectingly on the losing side of the fight for a moment. With his shoulder pulling with every movement, Yamato couldn't dodge the punch to his gut, or the one to his cheek that forced his teeth to clamp down on his lip and split the skin. He didn't waste time to spit out the blood that filled his mouth; he swallowed it quickly and set his stance to get back into the fight, and start winning again._

_The guy aimed another punch for Yamato's face, not worrying about tactics when brute strength was on his side. But the large man's strategy of having a lack of strategy failed him when Yamato ducked under his outreached arm and threw his own fist into the man's side before continuing around to kick him in the back._

_Drunk, or high, and unstable, the man fell forward at the force of Yamato's foot on his back, and Yamato took the advantage and planted a last kick between his shoulder blades to send him fully to the floor. When the man's face smashed into the muddy floor Yamato backed up a bit, worried that he might have given the guy a serious head injury when he didn't instantly get up. He finally moved after a few tense minutes of lying with his nose buried in soil. His shoulders were pulled tensely up to his ears and his fingers clawed at the grass. With a sharp turn of his head he growled and snarled at Yamato._

_He had wild eyes; wide, dilated and webbed with red. Taichi panicked. As hurtful as it would be to Yamato's pride, he couldn't let his friend fight alone. This guy was high on something and he'd had enough of whatever he took to make him fight with a murderous intent. The big guy scrambled to his feet and charged at Yamato, not with fists but with talons or claws. Yamato didn't look scared, but that's because he was too proud and drunk to be scared. Taichi hadn't had enough alcohol to dull his inhibitions, so it was lucky that he was just a naturally courageous person or else Yamato may have had his throat mauled off by a drugged up bear._

_Taichi leapt in, not caring to wait for an 'opportune moment'. He intercepted the man's lunge with a tackle of his own. Yamato just stared with an open mouth as Taichi threw himself into the man coming towards him, sending him into the floor once again. They tumbling two rolled across the grass, with the surrounding crowd following them in a strict circle._

_With strength to match the wild stranger Taichi didn't have to do much to get the upper hand. He pushed the guy's face into the floor and sat on his back, his legs pinning the other guy's legs to the floor. Taichi took the guy's arm and pulled it behind his back, painfully pinning his wrist to his shoulder. There was a bit of struggling at first, but it calmed down when the guy realised that he couldn't move without breaking his arm. With a pleased nod Taichi reached into the back pocket, took out the Yamato's phone and tossed it to Yamato._

_"What the fuck are you doing?"_

_The man beneath Taichi growled and twitched his shoulders in a short attempt to throw Taichi off his back. Still holding onto him tightly Taichi leaned down to talk._

_"This fight is over. All we wanted was the phone you took."_

_Once the item was safely in Yamato's hands Taichi shifted, preparing to release the guy. First he got into a position where he could get up quickly, with his feet planted firmly on the ground but still pushing the guy into the floor with his hands. Then, he let go and jumped back at the same time, grabbing Yamato to drag him away quickly. The crowd parted to let them leave, but reformed around the slouching figure on the grass who was growling quietly._

_Taichi sighed and rolled his shoulder where he had tackled the large man. He continued to drag Yamato through the garden and went down the side entrance to the street instead of wading through the still crowded living room. When it was quiet enough to talk Taichi turned to Yamato who was rubbing his own bruised shoulder._

_"You good?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Yamato wiped at the cut on his lip with his thumb and hissed out a breath through his aching teeth. Yamato wasn't paying attention to where Taichi was dragging him, he was too busy trying to catch his breath and inspecting his phone._

_Taichi knew that Yamato wasn't going to thank him. He'd bruised Yamato's pride by helping him. But, at least Taichi knew that deep, deep, deeeeep down Yamato was grateful to him, though he'd never admit it._

_Yamato spun the cheap phone around in his hand and pressed a few buttons to check that everything was alright. Then, when he turned it over he twisted his lips in a snarl._

_"That son of a bitch. He only had it ten minutes and he was already trying to scratch the inscription off."_

_Yamato huffed, looking at the back of the phone where 'To Yamato, from Dad' had previously been inscribed. Now it was just covered in shallow scratches; a quick fix for a thief until they could get their hands on a new case or a buyer._

_Taichi stopped pulling on his arm for a moment to look at the phone for himself._

_"But other than being scratched it's okay, right?"_

_"Yep. Still working."_

_Taichi wasn't holding onto him anymore, but they didn't stop walking together, both heading the same direction by instinct; they just subconsciously tried to get away from the overwhelming noise and ended up a few feet down the road from the house._

_Yamato pocketed his scratched up phone and rubbed at his shoulder, feeling it tense in pain when he dug his fingers into the edge of the blade of bone. He hissed and tightened his face in a wince as the pain rode the nerves up his shoulder and into his neck, but despite this distraction he still managed to notice Taichi giggling beside him. Yamato looked over to the other boy and, as he'd suspected, Taichi stared back at him with his usual bright smile and glowing eyes that suddenly made him forget the pain. He wasn't trying to hide his chuckles and smiles; he bared all amusement to Yamato._

_"What are you laughing at?"_

_Yamato asked, laughing a bit himself. Taichi shook his head and rubbed a smooth circle on Yamato's back._

_"Nothing. It's just that you look so cool when you fight. Reminds me of when we used to fight like that."_

_Yamato nodded and leant back into Taichi's arm on his back, not caring that his shoulder throbbed when he brushed it against Taichi's, and caring even less when Taichi moved his arms to wrap around his middle section. It was nice to think back on their childhood together. Back then even the smallest brawl would turn into a fist fight, like when they argued over who won a sprint race through the park, or when Taichi ate bits of Yamato's lunch while he wasn't looking._

_"It's just a shame that you've gotten so scrawny now. It's no fun when I can beat you so easily."_

_Taichi sighed jokingly and patted Yamato's flat stomach. Yamato snorted and arched his brow._

_"What are you talking about? I'm still strong!"_

_"You're stringy. You need to put some meat on those bones. You look like one of those frail old lady."_

_"Oh yeah? Well at least I'm not a shrimp!"_

_Yamato reached over his shoulder to flick Taichi's forehead. The top of Taichi's head lay just below Yamato's, although his wild hair made this difference in height unnoticeable. At that moment their difference in height was prominent. Taichi had to stand on the balls of his feet to rest his chin on Yamato's shoulder. Taichi blushed and retracted his arms from Yamato's waist._

_"What? I'm only three centimetres shorter!"_

_"Three and a half actually."_

_"Th-That doesn't matter! Pretty soon I'm going to be towering over you! Then you'll be the shrimp."_

_"Bring it on, midget."_

_"I will, string bean!"_

_Their angry stares didn't last very long. Yamato was the first to break, bursting into obnoxious laughter only seconds before Taichi. Maybe it was the drink, or the fading of the adrenalin in his system, but Yamato and Taichi were comfortable enough to fully hug each other while the laughed, rocking as though they were participating in a clumsy dance. Their chests rumbled against each other and Taichi kept Yamato standing with his arms securely locked around the thin waist. They didn't pull back from the embrace so much as they seemed to reluctantly float apart, Taichi's hand still on Yamato's hip and Yamato's arm still resting behind Taichi's neck._

_They both slowly began walking off into the distance, not aiming to go to any specific place. Brushing nonexistent dust off Taichi's shoulder, and still with laughter lingering on his cold lips, Yamato spoke in a cool voice._

_"Want to ditch this tea party?"_

_"Sounds good to me."_

_"I'm still buzzing though. Want to do something?"_

_"I just want to sit somewhere warm. I want to talk to you."_

_Yamato raised his brow and moved his arm around on Taichi's shoulder, not retracting it completely but moving his hand to the back of Taichi's neck._

_"Something wrong?"_

_Taichi blushed and shook his head._

_"N-No. It's just that it's been so long since we've just...talked. We're always out somewhere nowadays."_

_With a relieved sigh and a smile Yamato leant in to touch his temple to Taichi's, bending his back until the discomfort nearly compared to the pleasure of Taichi's presence._

_"My Dad's out of town for the week. I've got beers at home, but if you want something stronger we could buy something on the way back."_

_"Beer's fine."_

_Taichi ruffled Yamato's hair roughly, causing the boy to splutter in horror and knock him away. Without any kind of word to Shinji or the others they started to walk away from the party; they'd made enough of a dramatic exit to make up for not saying goodbye._

_Yamato's apartment wasn't too far, which was one of the main reasons why they had decided to go to the shitty gathering; if it had ended up being a waste then they could just head back to the apartment and play some play station. So they slowly started the walk home together, brushing their shoulders together a few times and keeping a comfortable silence. Yamato would drunkenly chuckle occasionally, and Taichi would laugh as well just because it was infectious._

_They hadn't gotten any further than the end of the road when they heard the fast thudding of feet closing in from behind them._

_"You little faggot shit! I'll fucking kill you!"_

_No time to react; no time to block; not even enough time to look surprised. A screaming blur dived out from the darkness of the dimly lit street behind them, covered in mud and bruised. Yamato went from smiling and laughing to being thrown onto the pavement head first with a maniac on top of him._

_"Yama!"_

_The large man threw his hand into Yamato's face, forcing him to slam his head against the pavement. Before he could do it a second time Taichi had grabbed onto his jacket and thrown him off._

_"Get the fuck off of him!"_

_The guy wasn't saying anything, just roaring like a beast with saliva and blood spewing from his mouth, and a face so red it would seem normal if blood were to start flooding from his ears. A group of people began running up to them from the party, Shinji being one of them. They surrounded the maniac and all began wrestling him to the floor, screaming at him. Taichi bid the end of that part of the problem and turned back to Yamato, who he expected to be getting up and preparing to fight again. But Yamato hadn't moved, and Taichi almost threw up at the sight._

_"Oh shit, oh fff-"_

_He dropped beside Yamato's prone body and hovered his hand over Yamato's head, unsure if he should touch him. Yamato's eyes were closed, not in the same delicate way like they were when he slept, but as though they were being forced shut. Taichi just rested his floating hand lightly on Yamato's chest, drawing comfort from the rise and fall of Yamato's breathing._

_"Yama, can you hear me?"_

_He spoke in a hushed tone, searching the closed eyes and gritted teeth for some kind of reaction. Not even a twitch. While Yamato's breathing stayed even and slow beneath Taichi's hand, Taichi's breathing sped up as fear gripped his lungs tightly._

_"Ah, shit. Yama."_

_Taichi whined and rubbed his head harshly, hoping that the friction would stimulate his brain to figure out what the fuck to do. A hand slammed onto his shoulder while he was distracted and for a second he dreaded that the bully had come back for another round. But Shinji's voice in his ear stopped him from throwing his elbow back into whoever was behind him._

_"Is he okay?"_

_Shinji huffed, out of breath from the rush over. Taichi couldn't form words at first, just a gurgle and a mumble of swears. When he finally found his voice his lips quivered._

_"N-No! He's-"_

_"Agh ff-ffuck!"_

_Yamato croaked with ragged breath, rolling onto his side and curling his arms around his head. Gasping, Taichi laid a hand on Yamato's cheek trying to get his attention._

_"Yama? Yama, are you okay?"_

_He whispered tenderly and rubbed his thumb over Yamato's cheek gently. At the sound of his best friend's comforting voice Yamato turned over onto his back despite the pain of his head. He looked up at Taichi with watery blue eyes, squinting beneath the lamppost lights that glared from overhead._

_"Feels like m-my fffuckin' skull'sssbroke."_

_Yamato stuttered, forcing down any sobs of pain. He took deep breaths, his senses slowly clearing and vision sharpening with every lungful of air. Taichi leaned in closer, paying attention to every detail of Yamato's face and searching for any kind of injury._

_"Yama, do you want me to call an ambulance?"_

_Yamato slowly shook his head, looking up into Taichi's frightened face._

_"No...no, I'm fine now. Just take me home."_

_Shinji made himself known again by patting Taichi on the shoulder and standing back up._

_"I'll go get some ice or something."_

_He muttered before dashing off. Taichi turned back to Yamato, who was shielding his eyes with his forearm._

_"I can't take you home yet. I'm calling Jyou. You might have a concussion and I haven't got a fucking clue what to do."_

_Taichi wriggled around on his knees to find his phone in his pockets. Meanwhile, Yamato pulled himself up onto his elbows, struggling to get up, but Taichi stopped him before long, gently pushing against his chest to keep him lying down._

_"Stay down. I don't want your brains falling out."_

_"My brains aren't going to-"_

_"Just stay down, you stubborn bastard!"_

_Taichi shouted; frustrated, angry, panicky. Yamato stopped trying to salvage his pride and lay down quietly on his back while Taichi dialled a familiar number on his phone and lifted it to his ear._

_"Jyou, it's Taichi. Sorry for waking you, I've got an emergency...Yeah, Yama hit his head and I don't know what to do...He hit the curb. There's no blood but he was knocked out for a few seconds...yeah...okay...Yama, look into my eyes for a sec."_

_Taichi held Yamato's chin to lift his face and stared him deeply in the eyes. Yamato felt heat begin to collect in his cheeks and resisted the urge to squirm away in embarrassment at Taichi's thick stare. He looked to be deep in concentration with his dark brows digging in between his soft hazel eyes, and his lips would twitch ever so often as he examined Yamato's pupils. Without breaking eye contact, Taichi began to speak to Jyou again._

_"Yeah, his eyes are fine...Have you got a headache?"_

_"You mean other than where my skull slammed into the floor?"_

_Yamato laughed and Taichi grunted loudly._

_"His attitude's still the same, does that make any difference?...He isn't slurring or anything...Okay, I'll look after him from here. Thanks Jyou. Sleep tight."_

_"So I'm going to live?"_

_Taichi pocketed the phone and leant back on his knees._

_"Don't know yet. You're not allowed to go to sleep for a while just in case. And if the pain keeps up or you develop the signs of a concussion then I'm getting you to a hospital. Okay?"_

_"Okay."_

_With a nod Taichi finally released a sigh of relief, he felt as though he'd just put out a fire or something. The shouts from behind him had quietened completely, convincing him that the trouble had died down and that the crazy asshole was at a safe distance away from Yamato and himself._

_"Alright, take my hand. We'll get you up slowly."_

_Taichi said, holding out his hand. Yamato took it slowly, waiting for some kind of pain or nausea to hit him. He took his time to sit up, making sure that his head wasn't jostled too violently, and Taichi pushed against the small of his back to support him. They took a pause once he was upright._

_"Do you feel sick or anything?"_

_"No."_

_"Lightheaded?"_

_"No, I'm fine."_

_"Okay, let's try standing up now."_

_Keeping their hands connected Taichi stood up and didn't mind supporting Yamato's weight as the injured boy tried to pull himself up. Yamato used Taichi's hand like a stump on a climbing wall, gripping desperately to it as he tried to lift himself with only the strength in his arms. The rest of his body seemed to be pretty much useless, feeling about as sturdy as a balloon filled with warm water. His knees buckled halfway to standing, and he watched as Taichi's chest came to meet him when he stumbled forward._

_"You okay?"_

_Taichi laughed and tucked his hands beneath Yamato's arms to pull him upright. With an uncomfortable chuckle, sounding more like he was choking than laughing, Yamato replied._

_"Yeah, my legs are just a bit shaky."_

_"Want me to carry you?"_

_"No, it's okay. We'd look ridiculous. My feet would still touch the floor."_

_"Stop making fun of my height, asshole."_

_The comment had no bite to it. Although their talk was light hearted there was still a sort of tension thickening the air around them, keeping the situation serious to a certain degree. After all, Taichi had been frightened for a while back there; a serious kind of fear that he couldn't overcome with jokes and reckless courage like he normally did. Just thinking about Yamato's unmoving form activated Taichi's instincts to curl his arms round Yamato's body and pull him close._

_It felt a bit weird, holding a boy that was taller than him like he was frail and small. But there was also something that felt...right. The way that the curve of Yamato's chest fit so well against his own, and his arms rested perfectly upon the groove of Yamato's hips. It felt as though they were wearing each other._

_"T-Taichi? Are you okay?"_

_"Yeah. And you're okay, too. Right?"_

_"Yeah. I'm okay."_

_Yamato returned the embrace hesitantly, wondering what he had done to deserve it. He locked his arms behind Taichi's neck and leant into him, no longer questioning the affection but just enjoying it._

_Shinji slowly approached the two after a minute, coughing loudly to announce his presence. Yamato and Taichi didn't break completely, but turned sideways to face him. Shinji held out a wrapped towel._

_"Here...ice."_

_Taichi took the bundle and held it to the back of Yamato's head. Yamato hissed at the first contact and took over holding it in place._

_"Thanks Shinji. I'm taking Yama home."_

_Shinji nodded sharply and looked up at Yamato, who was cringing at the feeling of icy water running down his neck from the damp towel._

_"You gonna be okay Yami?"_

_"Yeah, I've got my own little nurse to look after me tonight."_

_Yamato flicked Taichi in the head with his free hand before wrapping it around his shoulders. Saying nothing, Taichi just rubbed the sore spot, pouting and looking off to the side._

_"Alright. Call me tomorrow if you're still breathing and shit."_

_"Yeah. Will do."_

_With a salute Shinji dashed off back to what was left at the party. Surprisingly the fight had left people feeling even more energetic; the music had been turned up and shouts and laughter were ringing in the night air._

_Taichi rubbed the back of his head and looked up at Yamato._

_"S-So...uh...where were we?"_

_Yamato laughed and held tighter to the towel of ice, struggling to not drop it when his hands were becoming more numb by each passing second._

_"I do believe that we were about to escape this fuck festival and have some beers at my place."_

_"No more beer for you, you alcoholic."_

_"Yes, nurse."_

* * *

_After throwing himself onto his unmade bed Yamato closed his eyes, feeling his world undulate and pulsate around him. Lying on his back didn't feel like a good idea now that he was in the position. The alcohol swayed in his stomach even while he lay motionless. He released a wounded man's moan and held to his head while he turned away from the light that invaded his bedroom from the open door._

_"Close the fucking door."_

_He mumbled, and grabbed onto the warm pillow he rested on top of. Instead of doing what Yamato asked, Taichi turned on the lights and watched as Yamato writhed into the bed sheets as though it burned him._

_"You're not supposed to sleep yet, Yama."_

_"Yeah, yeah."_

_Taichi chuckled and teasingly kicked the edge of the bed. Yamato rolled over like a disturbed animal, pawing at the air and kicking at the sheets, before settling back to falling asleep again. After squirming so much, Yamato's dirtied and beer soaked shirt had been crumpled and bunched to expose a firm, pale stomach. Taichi could see the angry red of a bruise forming on his right, where he'd heroically taken a punch. But apart from that, he could see nothing but a beautiful surface of pale, creamy silk smoothed over a plane of firm muscle. Taichi licked at his dry lips and lowered himself to sit beside the reclined form of his best friend._

_Not a second lingered between the moment that he set his eye upon Yamato's raw and split lips, and when he leant down to claim them with his own. At first Yamato warmed up to the familiarity of Taichi's kiss. The plump yet rough flesh coaxing his own with a firm caress; the flick of a heated tongue on the inside of his upper lip; the callous thumb tracing a gentle curve around his eye while the fingers, smelling of tobacco and the oaky musk of the boy himself, brushed the shell of his ear and found solace in the hair that hung behind it; the warm breath on his cheek._

_That bliss ended quickly. After Taichi felt Yamato respond to the kiss his restraint withered, while his lust flourished. A curious hand climbed across Yamato's quivering muscle and dived beneath the moist shirt that clung to his upper half. In shock, Yamato reeled back, finally awakening his limp hands to push Taichi away. His head was pounding, his stomach jumping and his peripheral vision was being slowly cut away by curtains of black that were trying to pull him into sleep. He was getting too comfortable._

_He lazily tried to escape from Taichi's lips by moving his face away, but the heated lips only moved to their next target on his person, brushing over the soft of his cheek before landing onto his neck. With a shaky whine Yamato nudged his elbow into the boy above him._

_"Fuck off Tai."_

_Taichi didn't take Yamato's grouchy tone seriously, but removed his hands from under his shirt anyway out of politeness._

_"What did I do? You don't usually mind."_

_He laughed and flicked the sharp nose of his friend playfully, but it wasn't as well received as he'd thought it would be. Yamato grumpily batted his hand away and rolled over and out from underneath Taichi. There he curled up and scratched his chest while grumbling._

_"The last thing I need right now is you drunk kissing me. If you're that deprived of action go back to the party and find someone to fuck."_

_"I'm not deprived."_

_Yamato snorted sarcastically and turned his head to look at Taichi's red cheeks and pouting lips. It was Taichi's own fault for being embarrassed._

_"Don't fake it. You've been trying to make out with me nearly every time we go out recently. It used to be something we'd do only if we were drunk enough to forget about it later."_

_"That doesn't mean I'm deprived."_

_Taichi mumbled and looked away with a stubborn clench of his jaw. He shifted around to lie fully on the bed, with his head resting against the headboard. He looked like a child that had been denied a new toy, chewing on his gums and gripping his own arms. For some reason Yamato felt that there was no victory for him in this situation, and it was frustrating. He couldn't relax and live out his horrible headache while Taichi was moping. He spitefully growled and dug his face into the bed sheets while he spoke._

_"Why don't you ask out Satsuki? She's had a thing for you for ages, so she'd definitely say yes. That way she's happy that she has you as a boyfriend, and you're happy that you have a hole to fill."_

_Taichi didn't even bother to look in Yamato's direction. He silently allowed his head to drop back against the wall and loosened the grip of his fingers on his own arms. Yamato hung onto the silence regretfully, expecting an insult, or for Taichi to leave the room completely. But he stayed, and didn't look like he was going to leave the poor boy in peace any time soon._

_"You don't mean that, Yama."_

_Taichi said, confidently and calmly. His voice was smooth and deep in Yamato's ears. With an exhale of defeat Yamato grunted and rolled over onto his back. Taichi had figured him out faster than he'd expected._

_"Yeah, you're right. That would be a really shitty thing for you to do and I'd hate you for it."_

_He didn't even know why he'd said such a thing. He'd just felt this pressure in his chest and blurted it out, angrily thinking of it as a harsh joke. When he rolled his eyes to look over to Taichi, he could see him towering in front of him, muscled arms folded over his filthy white shirt and the dark portals of his eyes peeking down to stare back at him. There was still a tension in his face after Yamato's comment. With a gentle hand Yamato tried to brush away the tension in Taichi's arms while he spoke, thinking it would excuse his hurtful remark._

_"But, Tai, the point that I'm getting at is that you should put the alcohol in your system towards making out with someone other than me. I don't need a drunk like you slobbering all over my face right now."_

_Taichi flinched and laughed quietly to himself before taking hold of Yamato's hand that still brushed his arm. He looked down on his close friend with a cheeky smile; All teeth and gums with pinched eyes._

_"Who says I'm drunk?"_

_Yamato pulled back his hand and widened his eyes._

_"You downed half of Shinji's drink mix."_

_He stated, confused. Taichi only shook his head and smiled more._

_"I'm telling you, I'm not drunk. I-"_

_"Tai, a few gulps of that drink got my head spinning. Now, we both know that I could drink you under the table any time, so considering you had nearly twice as much of that drink as I did I'm surprised that you can even open your eyes right now."_

_"Okay, okay. I don't doubt that you could easily finish a working man's liquor cabinet, but your skill doesn't matter in this circumstance because I didn't even drink any of that shit. Shinji took it from me before I could have any."_

_Blue eyes blinked rapidly during a short silence. Then his face fell._

_"O-Oh. That would make much more sense. I was almost going to doubt my skill at holding drink for a moment."_

_Yamato chuckled, only now feeling embarrassed for bragging. But the other boy didn't mind too much. If anything, the clouds of red that now collected in Yamato's pale cheeks were enough to take his attention away from everything else that had happened, or was happening. So, he didn't realise that he had leant in for a kiss until his lips brushed against the warm cushion of Yamato's cheek._

_Yamato chuckled, fluttering the soft pedestal where Taichi sat his lips. Then, with a hand to Taichi's forehead, he gently pushed him away and mumbled._

_"Get me a cigarette, would you? My lighter's on top of the stereo."_

_Taichi jumped away at his orders to fulfil his request. He grabbed the almost empty lighter from the speakers on his desk and rummaged around in the top draw, knowing that Yamato would have a stash there. He found a fresh pack and threw them over to the bed, where they landed on Yamato's chest._

_"Thanks."_

_"No problem."_

_He chimed and sat back on the bed, watching diligently like a trained dog as Yamato unwrapped the plastic cover, broke the seal on the box and placed one white stick between his lips. Then, just as Yamato was about to request for his lighter, Taichi flicked it himself and held the flame before him. Yamato pulled back the blond bangs that hung on his forehead before leaning in to light the end, careful to make sure that his nose didn't catch alight either with the way that he was struggling to sit upright._

_"Doesn't your Dad notice the smell in here?"_

_Taichi pocketed the lighter and leant back against the headboard while Yamato took his first drag and settled back down comfortably as he exhaled._

_"He never comes in here."_

_Yamato sighed, and following his breath came arms of smoke that crawled out through his lips._

_"Teenage drama and all that shit; he doesn't really want to get involved with what goes on in my room."_

_Taichi nodded, understanding. His own mum didn't like to pry too much, thinking that she might stifle him or cause him to rebel more than he was already. Luckily his dad didn't give a shit about stuff like that and butted in whenever he wanted. He'd lived the life, he knew exactly what was going on in the life of a teenage boy. Or, at least...most of it. There were some things that Taichi had to go through by himself, and, looking at his best friend in that moment, he realised this more than ever._

_Forgetting to be coy, Taichi kicked his legs and shook his shoulders so that his body would slide down the headboard and he would lie on the bed, intimately close to Yamato. The heavy smoke that wafted into his face wasn't too bad so long as it was accompanied by the warm feeling of Yamato's arm pressing against his own._

_Yamato wasn't soft at all, at least not like any of the girls that he'd been as close to. The taller boy didn't do much sport but there was still solid muscle beneath the smooth skin of his arm, and Taichi could feel it all tense when he ran the pads of his fingers up and down the pale limb._

_Taichi began to worry when he looked up at Yamato's tired face. His blue eyes blinked in an uneven sequence, and the lit end of his cigarette was drooping dangerously close to the mattress as he became more and more relaxed. No matter how much Taichi wanted to curl around his beautiful friend and fall asleep he knew that he still had a job to do; he had to keep Yamato awake. So he did it in a way that he thought would be most enjoyable._

_While Yamato momentarily rested his eyes Taichi stealthy swung his leg over Yamato's hips so that he was straddling him. He twisted his face into a smug grin when Yamato blearily looked up, confused. Although, before he could ask any questions, Taichi occupied those pale lips with his own, holding Yamato's face with both his hands so that he couldn't escape so easily this time._

_Taichi's kisses were just like his personality; eager, passionate, but impatient, never lasting too long. He attacked in short bursts of energy, massaging the surface of Yamato's lips and breaking before diving in again to repeat. It helped in keeping Yamato awake if only because it was frustrating that if Taichi was going to kiss him he could at least kiss him properly. Before long he'd had enough and, careful not to set anything on fire with his still lit cigarette, he peeled off one of Taichi's hands from his face and moved back._

_"Again with the kissing? I told you to fuck off."_

_Quietly chuckling, Taichi rested his forearms on either side of Yamato's head and leant in close as he spoke._

_"I'm just trying to keep you awake. If you fall asleep you might never wake up."_

_"Then get me some ice or something. Or better yet, a beer."_

_"No beer for you. I'm not going to have you ending up like poor Yuki tonight. It's going to have to be good old fashion ice water for you."_

_Flopping back, Yamato closed his eyes and ignored Taichi's nose that touched his own, and Taichi's thighs that gripped his hips. He worked around their close proximity to put the cigarette to his lips. Then, he released the smoke in his lungs afterwards with a growl, forcing Taichi to move back lest he get it in his eyes._

_"Fine. But pass me that mug on your way to the kitchen would you?"_

_He waved his hand like a spoilt prince at the mug on the desk and stared up at Taichi, waiting for him to move. And so he did, eventually and reluctantly after a short staring contest. Taichi tossed the empty mug on the bed as he left the room._

_He knew the layout of Yamato's apartment more than just by heart. It was engraved on his eyelids when he closed his eyes. Even his dreams of the place were frighteningly accurate. He went to the familiar kitchen and without thinking was able to find what he needed; glasses, ice, water, towels. When he came back into the room Yamato was lying on his side, using the mug as an ash tray._

_Leaving the glass of water on the table by the bed Taichi handed the towel wrapped ice to Yamato, who mumbled his thanks before holding it to the back of his head. His injury didn't hurt anymore, but the freezing temperature was certainly helping to sober him up, but he was still too numb for the cold to have a massive effect on him. So, he still found himself dozing off every few seconds now that he was free of the adrenalin that had been produced from fighting._

_Meanwhile, Taichi was finding it just as difficult to break the silence as it was to keep it. On one hand, the silence between them was making it very difficult for him not to notice Yamato's unintentional errotic display; his shirt was still heavy with moisture and clung to the curves of his torso. He wanted to start up a conversatiion and get rid of some of the tension. But, on the other hand, he wanted to keep quiet to hear Yamato's deep, tired breathing, reminding him that Yamato was still alive. It was such a soothing sound; inhale, exhale, air in, air out. He could even see the rise of Yamato's lungs in his chest...through the wet shirt...that outlined his errect nipples._

_Ah God, the sight was just too tempting. He had to calm down._

_Without a word Taichi went to Yamato's closet and threw the first clean shirt he saw onto the bed. Then, without any kind of warning he pushed Yamato to the bed and straddled him before pulling at his wet shirt._

_Yamato's eyes widened and he began to struggle lightly._

_"What are you doing? Oi, watch the fire!"_

_Yamato quickly switched the lit cigarette into his other hand while Taichi pulled his arm out of the garment._

_"I'm changing your shirt. It's all dirty and it doesn't look too comfy."_

_"If you make me comfortable then I'll fall asleep and die, remember?"_

_"I'll wake you up before that happens."_

_"Whatever."_

_Yamato laughed and laid back down once his shirt had been removed, throwing the towel of ice on the floor that he forgot he'd been holding. The room was cold and the remaining cold water from the ice had soaked into Yamato's hair, making him shiver every few seconds. It was getting more and more difficult to stay awake as he got more comfortable. His body was cold, while the bed covers were so warm, and Taichi was still looming over him like some kind of floating heater. He found his eyes drooping close and in the space that was availabe between his chest and Taichi's he arched his back to stretch, sighing when he felt a pop in his spine, before collapsing back, satisfied._

_Meanwhile, Taichi was severely regretting not having thought his idea through to end. He'd wanted to put a clean shirt on to make Yamato look less...sexy. But in order to do that he hadn't realised fully that that involved taking Yamato's old shirt off, revealing his naked torso. This sight was even more torturious than the last. And then when Yamato was arching up to him he could see up close that sensuous curve of his spine and chest._

_The fresh shirt lay abandoned beside them, and the dirty one made a disgusting, wet 'splat' as it was thrown onto the wooden floor._

_The first thing that Taichi reached for was the slim, pale waist before him; the inward dip was only just prominent enough so that the outward curve of Yamato's pelvis could comfortably rest Taichi's hands. He skimmed his hands up and down the smooth sides of Yamato's torso, marvelling at how beneath the warm skin he could feel the outlines of muscle and bones._

_"Tai stop it."_

_Yamato groaned, tucking his face into his own shoulder and sighing tiredly. He couldn't be bothered to move his arms to physically stop Taichi. So, because there was no force behind Yamato's command or any physical signs of him disliking the contact, Taichi just kept on going. He rubbed his thumbs over Yamato's hip bones a few times before moving his hands north on Yamato's torso, kneading his sides as he went along and digging his fingers into the muscles on his back._

_Yamato didn't like it; the way that every place on his body that was touched by Taichi's hands began to heat up, as though Taichi's hands were fire and Yamato's body caught alight with every moment of contact. __He was being overwhelmed by the combatting desires to draw Taichi further in and push him away. He didn't know what to do in this situation. Something like this had never happened before. Sure, when Taichi and himself were unhealthily drunk they might kiss to make each other laugh. But he never once suspected that he would be in a situation like this, with Taichi squeezing his bare hips and slowly leaning foreward to plant a kiss on Yamato's centre._

_He felt his lungs quiver with every intake of breath when Taichi sensually dragged his moist lips over his naked chest. Yamato dropped his cigarette into the glass of water that Taichi had placed on his bedside and rested his shaking hands on Taichi's shoulders, pushing him away with what little strength he possessed at that moment. His head was pounding, his body was a mix between hot and cold, his bruises were aching; generally just far too irritated to deal with Taichi when he was like this. Taichi sucked on his pale neck and Yamato raised his knees, trying to nudge him away._

_"T-Tai, I mean it. Stop-"_

_Commands were cut short by Taichi's lips. Yamato couldn't help it that, despite being rudely interrupted and forced into it, he leant into that kiss just a bit. It was that warmth that radiated off of Taichi that he so wanted and why he seemed to submit; while they kissed their bodies were pressed the closest and he had could freely take that warmth that soothed him. The gusty night wind and the drying ice water on his neck and hair were his excuses for moving his hands from pushing on Taichi's shoulders to cupping his neck._

_But when he felt those very 'Male' hands reaching underneath and behind him, thumbs flicking over the lose top of his jeans, he found his will to resist once more._

_"Taichi, stop it!"_

_Yamato shouted and sat up violently, forcing Taichi to pull back his hands and lean back lest he get headbutted. But before Yamato could continue to tell Taichi off his vision went black and he felt as though his head were hollowed out and filled with helium. He gasped and used his hands to keep his head upright as he felt the feeling fade and a tingle begin behind his eyes._

_"Yama!"_

_Taichi jumped off the bed to stand when he heard Yamato's raw gasp. The blonde boy had his head tucked in his hands and was breathing deeply to calm himself._

_"I'm fine. I just sat up too quickly. I think I went blind for a second."_

_Taichi quickly grabbed Yamato's forearms to move his hands away from his face and looked into his eyes, searching for what Jyou told him to; dilation of pupils, whether he was able to focus, any sign of red..._

_Meanwhile, Yamato was noticing have very close Taichi was. Their lips and noses would brush while Taichi stared deeply into his eyes and he could taste the alcohol on Taichi's breath. Suddenly there was too much saliva in his mouth, but he dare not swallow for fear of jolting his head and moving even closer to the face in front of him._

_"Yama, your cheeks are really warm. Are you sure there's nothing wrong? You might have a fever."_

_Yamato's eyes widened and he looked away in embarrassment. Taichi could feel his blush. Shit._

_"D-Don't worry. I'm just a bit overheated from exercise and shit."_

_He pushed Taichi away, willing away the heat in his face. Taichi just looked on anxiously, watching Yamato like a tame dog would watch its master. After a while Yamato breathed out with his eyes closed, long, slowly and deeply, feeling the weight return to his body as the dizziness passed. When he opened his eyes Taichi was uncomfortably close, pressing his hands into Yamato's thighs and cooling Yamato's face with his breath. Yamato leant back slightly and questioned his friend's aim. He was being unusally persistent with his affections. Almost to the point that Yamato thought that Taichi might...want to have sex with him...or...something like that._

_"What's going on with you, Tai? What are you trying to do?"_

_He asked softly, almost seeming frightened to Taichi. Taichi looked down at his hands in silence, holding Yamato in suspense for his answer. Within the heavy silence of the room the sound of the two boys' breathing was prominent. Being the sort of person to jump in and think about it later, Taichi was reluctant to speak. He hadn't been wanting to 'do' anything when he'd decided to kiss Yamato. He'd just been attracted and decided to go for it. But he knew that Yamato wouldn't be satisfied by that kind of answer._

_His gaze skated over and around Yamato's face as he decided how to reply. Taichi knew that no matter what he said Yamato would probably get all pissy and offended, so why not just be honest? Just tell him out right 'I have no idea what I'm trying to do. But why should that stop us?'. Taichi psyched himself up, ready to talk, but as his eyes moved over to Yamato's ears he found himself blurting out the first thing on his mind instead of what he'd actually intended to say._

_"Yama, did you know that you have freckle behind your ear?"_

_Yamato shook his head and recoiled in confusion. Swept up in the change of topic he found himself reaching for the ear that Taichi had been looking at._

_"I do?"_

_Taichi decided to work with this new angle and set up a new game plan; one that was much more cunning. He smirked almost wickedly and slyly teased._

_"Yeah...right here."_

_Taichi then grabbed hold of the back of Yamato's neck and held him still as he leant in. Taichi buried his nose behind Yamato's ear and touched his lips to the dark freckle sat in the crease between the back of Yamato's ear and his head, where Taichi had always known it to be. Then, from between those lips darted a moist tongue that flicked across the dark mark on pale skin._

_Yamato felt something take over his body when that warm muscle swiped across his ear. Something that felt like...hot coffee being poured through his veins; like his stomach was being stretched in a taffy puller. It felt like...pleasure. He couldn't stop the reaction once it had started. His whole body arched into Taichi's, pressing his naked chest against Taichi's clothed one, and his hands went to fist tightly in Taichi's shirt. Then, feeling the prickly sting of pleasure in his sensitive nerves, his throat clamped shut and he released a sharp yet deep moan that ended with a shuddery gasp._

_"D-Don't."_

_Yamato brokenly moaned beneath Taichi's mouth. He nudged Taichi with his elbow to fend him off before shielding his ears with his cupped hands. Taichi was too shocked to laugh at Yamato's reaction. That moan and shiver was way too intense to be caused by mere foreplay. He looked around the room, suddenly feeling too bashful to look Yamato in the eye._

_"Well...that reaction was...unexpected..."_

_"Shut up! My ears are sensitive."_

_"Is that even possible? You reacted like I was touching your di-"_

_"Fuck off!"_

_Yamato was so flustered. His expression looked angry, telling Taichi 'I fucking hate you right now'. But, at the same time, there was this adorable twitch to his lips and pinkened cheeks that were telling Taichi 'please, do that again'. Taichi smiled silently, and by gently stroking the back of Yamato's hands he was able to coax Yamato into removing his hands from his ears. Using a hold on Yamato's wrists he pulled Yamato's hands into his chest._

_"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarass you."_

_Taichi spoke with a gentle smile and his hold on Yamato's wrsits was just the same; gentle. In Yamato's mind he kept thinking of how he should be feeling uncomfortable or freaked out, like anyone else would if their best friend were so close and looking at them in such a way. And even worse, he didn't even feel weird about not feeling weird. It was all just...ah, such a mess. He hadn't realised that he'd been frowning at the bed spread for about five minutes until Taichi called him back to consciousness._

_"Yama?"_

_And then he looked up into Taichi's eyes, and he saw it; the same look that Taichi had been giving him ever since they met as kids. These were the same eyes that shined even when they were in a dark room, and those plump cheeks still pinched when he gave a smile. Taichi was the same as ever._

_When Taichi moved in slowly to kiss him again Yamato didn't resist. _

_He took it slow to start, practically waiting for Yamato's rejection. He kept the kiss on the surface of Yamato's lips at first. But, when Yamato began to hesitantly push into the kiss, Taichi pushed back tenfold...and with his whole body. Yamato found himself on his back again with little time to notice while Taichi attacked him so passionately with eager lips._

_He rested his hands on the small of Taichi's back and tried to keep up with Taichi's energy. Yamato felt hands tugging his hair and gripping his hips, trying to pull him into the body that was hanging over him. Both being the dominant type, they both tried to take control of the kiss; even Yamato who was on the flat of his back and being pushed deeper into the bed as Taichi leant into him. His dislike of being the submissive partner gave him the bravery to move his hands over Taichi's back and shoulders, and he was the first to stroke his tongue over the other's lips. Mouths opened simultaneously for tongues to meet and Taichi inhaled sharply through his nose before breathing out with a moan._

_Before long Taichi pulled back slowly, short on breath and breathing in air greedily once their lips were parted. He seasoned Yamato's lips with a few more pecks of his lips before pulling back with an intense look in his eyes._

_"Do you like it when we kiss, Yama?"_

_Yamato looked off to the wall of his bedroom, muttering something like 'shut the fuck up' and hoping that Taichi might not notice the fresh colour in his cheeks. Lucky for him Taichi wasn't particularly interested in his face any more. Instead he was desperately fascinated by the long, pale neck that Yamato had put on show by turning his head. Starting from Yamato's raised collar bone, Taichi ran a thick line with his tongue all the way up the quivering neck and he ended it on his newly discovered favoourite place on Yamato's body; behind his ear. Yamato shivered and curled into Taichi, clamping down his throat onto the moan that had risen in him. His hands gripped Taichi's shirt on reflex when Taichi flicked his tongue over the shell of his ear and whispered hotly._

_"I like it when we kiss. A lot."_

_Yamato gritted his teeth and scowled at the ceiling, deciding that he really hated this bold side of Taichi. No one else would be able to say something so tactless without feeling the least bit shameful about it. Not to mention there was no one else who was so bold as to toy with an Ishida's pride in such a way. Had it been anyone other than Taichi straddling him and groping him, Yamato would have wasted no time in breaking their nose and stamping on their throat._

_Distracted by the thought of giving Taichi a good smack when this was all over and he had his strength back, Yamato didn't notice Taichi's advances until his body began to react to them. Taichi's fingers teasingly ran over his nipples, giving them a light flick as he ran his hands over Yamato's chest. Yamato whimpered around the warm lump that had gathered in his throat. With a heavy gulp he could feel that ball of heat glide down his throat, run beneath his chest, rattle around in his stomach before finally falling to join a gathering hardness beneath his jeans. _

_When Taichi wedged himself between Yamato's legs and nibbled on his neck, Yamato found himself appauled at the realisation of how submissive he was being, simply lying there and allowing Taichi freedom to roam his body. Be it in fighting or in loving, Yamato would never allow himself to be dominated. He grabbed at the downy hairs on the back of Taichi's neck and used them to raise Taichi's face. _

_Taichi's eyes nearly dropped out of their sockets when he found himself suddenly pulled into a passionate kiss. He hadn't at all expected Yamato to be so eager to kiss him, especially after he had been so intent on refusing him to start with. But, what he had expected obviously didn't matter at all when Yamato was sucking and biting on his lips the same way a sugar-starved child would do with a sweet. Yamato began pulling at his hair when it took too long for him to respond to the kiss._

_Taichi quickly caught on to Yamato's games. The way Yamato seemed so focussed on their kissing was a dead give away; a person with normal intentions wouldn't usually be scowling while they were heatedly making out with someone. Taichi kissed back enthusiastically, refusing to be outdone, and slyly tested Yamato's limits to where he allowed to be groped. Taichi stroked along his neck, over his nipples, down to his hips and raced two fingers beneath the loose jeans, just brushing the elastic of his boxers. He felt Yamato's hips twitch and was uncertain whether it was because the other boy wanted him to stop or to go even further._

_Yamato was struggling. There was no way he could feel like the dominant one while his legs were practically wrapped around Taichi's waist. As comfortable a position as it was, it was still a bit demeaning. He decided on a new tactic; to get Taichi so riled up that he can't think clearly. Seduce him into submission. Yamato made Taichi nervous when he chuckled through his nose at his own evil scheme, all the while stroking Taichi's tongue with his own._

_With a sharp tug to Taichi's hair Yamato shattered the contact of their lips. He slowly dragged his nails down Taichi's shoulder and pressed his thighs tighter together around Taichi's hips. Taichi stared down with heavy eyes while Yamato placed slow, soft kisses around his mouth. Whenever Taichi would try initiate another kiss Yamato would use Taichi's hair like a leash and pull him back. Yamato pulled away slowly after a final kiss. __Then, licking at the remaining moisture on his upper lip, Yamato provocatively looked up at Taichi and sighed._

_"I like it when we kiss, too."_

_Taichi gulped and watched Yamato's Adams apple nod as he swallowed the mixture of each other's saliva. Yamato was playing a dangerous game, without even realising it. Instead of being distracted by Yamato's sexual display, Taichi __grinned cheekily and leant into Yamato's neck, rubbing his nose against Yamato's ear._

_"I know you do."_

_He laughed, and with that he raised his knee between Yamato's legs to emphasise his point. Yamato gasped. He hadn't realised that he'd started to get hard until he felt the pleasure from Taichi nudging his bulge with his knee. He punched Taichi's shoulder in embarassment._

_"Fuck you."_

_Taichi was barely tickled by Yamato's fist and not at all dissuaded. With a smile he awarded Yamato's adorable attempt at violence with a bite to his ear. That small action stopped any extra remark that Yamato was close to announcing. Taichi lightly chuckled at the barely audible gasp that came from between Yamato's swollen lips. He shifted around clumsily while Yamato was distracted so that his face levelled with Yamato's collar bone. He sucked on the raised bone lightly before looking up to Yamato's face._

_"That has to be the fiftieth time you've said that tonight...that and 'shut up'."_

_Then his face fell back down to place another bite on Yamato's chest, this time just beneath the bone where he was able to capture some flesh between his teeth._

_"That's because you're being more annoying than usual."_

_Yamato groaned and covered his face with his arm, forgetting about his 'tactics' while plump lips and teeth were teasing his skin. Taichi looked up at Yamato's tense expression and placed another kiss on the pale skin, feeling it quiver beneath his lips._

_"Really? Even now?"_

_Yamato grabbed Taichi's face and brought it up to his own._

_"Especially now."_

_Yamato chuckled before diving in for the next intense kiss. This time they skipped going slow and went straight to raw, erotic devouring of each other. Yamato squeezed Taichi's hips with his thighs and ran his hands beneath Taichi's shirt, strangely enjoying the feel of solid, leathery flesh in his hands nearly as much as the soft curves of a girl. He savoured the varying planes of Taichi's body by experimenting with all the different ways to grab, grope and stroke the hills of muscle. _

_Taichi moved like a wave, finding himself tortured by conflicting wants. He would arch up into Yamato's hands on his back to feel more pressure, but then lean back down when he began to miss the warmth of Yamato's chest touching his own, all the while desperately trying to keep their lips connected. A few moments of this were more than too much; he wanted more pressure, more heat, more contact. Working around Yamato's stubborn hands and their locked lips Taichi clumsily removed his shirt, feeling relief once he had freed his hot skin from its confines. _

_Without sparing any attention he threw the shirt over his shoulder and lowered himself to rest his whole body against Yamato's, being careful not to wind the other boy by dropping onto him too quickly. The feeling of resting on Yamato's chest felt like resting on a bed of hot silk. Yamato's pale skin rubbed fluidly against his own, as though he and Taichi were two streams of water with nothing stopping them from merging together. The only exceptions of the smooth contact were the swollen twin peaks of each of their chests that would occasionally flick over eachother and scrape against the other's skin._

_When Taichi rested his whole length against Yamato he could very clearly feel 'it'; the hardening bulge beneath Yamato's jeans that pressed against his thigh. Instead of being creeped out by the feeling of another boy's erection Taichi felt happy about it. From this sign he knew that Yamato was enjoying this moment just as much as he was. He carefully shifted his leg to press against it and Yamato's mouth vibrated as he hummed into their kiss. That sound, and the quiver of Yamato's lips sent a pang through Taichi's body, like vibrations through a guitar string. His lust overtook his uncertainty and he made the swift decision to take the next step. He balance all of his weight on his knees and right arm in order to reach down with his left hand to the mound of denim between Yamato's legs._

_Yamato's outburst of sound was more from shock than arousal this time; a startled 'eep' that was just a bit too high pitched for his liking. He grabbed Taichi's wrist and pulled his hand away before he could do any serious 'damage' to that area._

_"W-wait a sec!"_

_Yamato stuttered around Taichi's lips and turned his face to escape the kiss. Taichi pulled back and stared down at Yamato, heaving his shoulders with his strained struggle for breath. Yamato gulped down a mixture of his own saliva and Taichi's before he began to talk._

_"We're...not going to have sex, are we?"_

_Not knowing the straightforward answer for that Taichi took a short pause before speaking._

_"That depends. Do you want to have sex with me?"_

_"I don't want to put it in your ass, that's disgusting."_

_"Oi! I wouldn't be taking it up the ass. You would. I'm a seme type of guy."_

_Yamato looked up at Taichi in shock before giving him a swift punch in the shoulder._

_"Don't you know the code about these things? The shorter one is always on the bottom, which is you."_

_"No, the weaker one is on the bottom, which is you."_

_Instead of a punch Taichi gave Yamato a solid poke in the shoulder, digging in to a pressure point which made Yamato wince. Yamato growled back in retaliation._

_"I told you I'm not weaker!"_

_Before he could sit up to prove his point Taichi was already on him, slamming his hands onto Yamato's shoulders and effortlessly pinning him to the bed. Yamato kicked out in struggle, flailing his legs and trying to angle his face to bite the hands that held him down while Taichi just laughed as he sat comfortably on Yamato's hips. When Yamato finally handed victory over to Taichi and stopped fighting Taichi's laughter similary began to die down, leaving them in a tense silence. The atmosphere sat on the hair-thin line between sexual and playful, a cough away from tipping in either direction completely._

_Yamato looked off to the side, not feeling brave enough to make eye contact while he contemplated what to say. Had their argument run to its end? Should he change the subject? Was it even the right time to say anything at all? _

_The first thing that came out of his mouth was a sqeak. Then a cough to correct the squeak. And then finally words, with reasonable coherency._

_"Any...Anyway, none of this matters since we aren't going to have sex, r-right?"_

_Taichi made an obscure expression, curling his upper lip and squinting his eyes at Yamato, before lifting his hands off of Yamato's shoulders._

_"Yeah...right."_

_He huffed, feeling a strange tenseness in his chest that bothered him. Still sitting on Yamato's hips Taichi looked off to the wall and tucked his hands under his arms with a frown. Yamato threw up his arms in annoyance and sat up as much as he could._

_"Are you seriously going to have a tantrum about this? Because I don't want to have sex with you?"_

_"I'm not having a tantrum."_

_Taichi mumbled._

_"Yes, you are! And you're being rediculous."_

_With frustrated eyes Taichi turned to look at Yamato and pushed the boy back down onto the bed by pressing on his chest._

_"How am I being rediculous? You turned me down. I'm allowed to be a little upset."_

_Yamato stared down, shocked, at the hand that was pressing down quite firmly on his chest. The force behind it was unnerving. When he looked up Taichi's face was deadly serious. All signs of humor or lust had been completely wiped away._

_"You're serious. You actually want to have sex?...with me?"_

_"Is that so hard to believe? So many people want to have sex with you already, why is it so shocking that you have another person to add to that list?"_

_"Because you're different!"_

_Taichi sighed and took his hand away from Yamato's chest, looking much calmer now if not slightly hurt. He spoke softly._

_"You said yourself that you enjoy kissing me."_

_"Yeah...I did. And I meant it. But kissing and...sleeping together are different things. I've been running on hormones and alcohol for the last ten minutes, but I'm being serious now. I don't want to have sex with you. Especially not right now."_

_Taichi paused and rubbed his neck, deliberating whether this was one of those times where, with a bit of convincing, Yamato would change his mind. _

_He gave a low moan of defeat._

_"Yeah. Okay."_

_He then swung his leg over Yamato to lie down next to him and fell completely limp, sprawled in the chaotic position that he had landed in. _

_Yamato turned to Taichi, feeling unsatisfied with ending the situation just like that. He leant on his elbow and prodded Taichi in the shoulder._

_"Didn't you ever think that this might fuck up our friendship?"_

_Taichi shrugged and looked up with innocent eyes._

_"Why would it? We're not getting into a relationship or anything. And even if I don't love you in a 'lover' kind of way, I still love you. I wouldn't take advantage of you, or force you into something. You're my best friend, remember? I would never do something if it ended up hurting you."_

_Again, no one but Taichi could make a bold confession like that without being the least bit embarrassed. Yamato didn't know if it was because he felt guilt or touched, but he couldn't draw his eyes away from Taichi's gaze. Those glistening brown eyes beneath his bedroom light looked up at him so serenely. Taichi spoke again while Yamato took a long, intense pause._

_"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"_

_Yamato huffed and looked down at his hands that were curled up by his chest._

_"You're logic is fucked up, Tai."_

_He mumbled, a little upset that Taichi didn't consider what might happen to their friendship as a result of his careless decision. But, then again, the way Taichi put it made some kind of sense. Their bond was too strong for something as trivial as sexual tension to pull them apart, and it wasn't as though they were using each other; what they might do would still have emotional value, unlike any of the girls that he'd probably done a lot more with._

_"I kind of understand where you're coming from, though."_

_Yamato finally said, stopping Taichi from getting too upset. Taichi looked up Yamato, confused by his sudden lack of dismissal. Taichi watched silently while Yamato kept his eyes low, thinking over what he should do. _

_On one hand, he felt the attraction between them, there was no doubt about that. His heart was pounding, his body was warm, he felt a pleasant constriction in his gut that connected to the tingling between his legs. There had always been an underlying sexual tension between the two of them. Sometimes it felt like it had been present even while they were still young and innocent. But Yamato had never been as conscious about it as he was now. Never before had there been...'physical evidence' of it. It was things like that that convinced Yamato that nothing would change if they were to simply embrace what they already knew was there. If anything it would achieve a sense of satisfaction that neither of them had truly realised was available to them._

_So, willingly, Yamato looked up at Taichi's crooked expression and reached forward._

_"Yama? Wha-"_

_A chaste kiss met Taichi's words. Yamato's eyes were open and boring into his own while their lips held each other. Yamato pulld back as quickly as he had rushed forward, now with a bright colour lingering on his cheeks._

_"No sex. But I don't mind fooling around a little. That okay?"_

_Taichi was speechless for a moment. He looked into the pale face before him, searching for any twitches or slips that would reveal if he was joking or not. But, despite the flush in his cheeks, Yamato's face was completely serious, almost to the point of being innappropriate. After recovering from his daze Taichi's expression transformed completely. His eyes widened, his brow relaxed and his lips pulled into a giddy, open mouthed smile. He threw his arms around Yamato's waist and pulled him close._

_"Definitely!"_

_He laughed and lay a kiss at the nape of Yamato's neck. Before he did anything else Yamato pushed him away a bit to look into his eyes._

_"I'm only doing this because I don't fancy shamefully jerking off in the shower later. Got it?"_

_"Got it."_

_Taichi dived in again, and was again pushed back._

_"And if you go anywhere near my ass hole I'll pull your nuts off."_

_"Deal. Stop talking."_

_Yamato could feel the smile on Taichi's lips as they kissed. They were both so desperate to get back into their lusty flow that there was no interval between kisses; no pause for breath. They breathed harshly and unevenly through their noses, fanning the other's cheek with their heated exhales._

_Taichi firmly ran his hand from Yamato's ribcage down to his thigh before using his hold to pull Yamato's leg over his hip. Though their bodies weren't in complete contact while they were lying on their sides they were close enough to feel a sense of satisfaction from the other's presence. Their hips came in contact as they shifted and Taichi released a keen whine, rocking his hips forward purposefully to repeat the action._

_Eventually he gathered the courage to reach down slowly to the front of Yamato's jeans and felt the need to reassure himself once his fingers touched the cool metal of the zipper. Both he and Yamato were tense and breathless while he tried to feel his way through the process of undoing the button._

_Yamato dug his fingers into Taichi's back, trying to distract himself from the obviously male hand that was undressing him. The problem wasn't that he didn't like it; after all, any teenage boy drowning in hormones would enjoy a bit of fondling. The matter was that he'd never had a male partner. He had never even considered having one before. For the first time, in a long time, he felt virginal; inexperienced; anxious about what to do when it came to his partner's pleasure._

_Taichi finished lowering the zipper and barely hesitated to pull the denim garment down Yamato's legs. While he still held on to Yamato's thigh that was resting over his hip he was unable to pull the jeans down completely. So, not wanting to compromise their intimate position, he settled with pulling the jeans down enough to expose the top half of Yamato's milky thighs and his pale blue cotton boxers. He dared not look down out of respect for Yamato. He could easily tell that the blond was nervous, and staring at his barely clothed genitals probably wouldn't make that problem any better. So, he just went for it. No time to waste, no time to worry._

_He pulled on Yamato's thigh to bring him closer and trapped his hand between their hips, cupping the front of Yamato's boxers gently. Yamato reflexively bit on Taichi's lip and gasped through his nose. He had let his guard down and hadn't been expecting that...boldness of Taichi's to show itself again. Taichi cupped and massaged the shape he felt beneath the thin sheet of cotton, sending dull bursts of pleasure through Yamato. Yamato closed his eyes and allowed his legs to twitch when Taichi made a movement that he enjoyed. But, when he opened them again he saw Taichi before him, his face conquered by defined shadows from the hanging light over his head. The expression that Yamato was so used to seeing on Taichi's face was completely gone and replaced by the glassy eyed gaze of a predator. Yamato found himself excited at the prospect of being the cause of the twitching brow and the swollen lips._

_Yamato aggressively dragged his hands down Taichi's back and buried them into the back of his loose jeans, halting them just before his fingers could fully form around the mounds of Taichi's buttocks. Yamato tried to pull down the item of clothing by hooking his index fingers over the waist band and then moving his hands lower on Taichi's body, until both his hands and his jeans sat at the very top of Taichi's thighs. Taichi lifted his lower body off of Yamato enough to unzip his jeans and help remove them. He left them as a pile of denim resting beside him until Yamato kicked them off the bed, annoyed by their presence._

_Yamato didn't have any time to observe Taichi's freed body because as soon as it was exposed it was firmly pressed down into his own once again. Taichi's hips found home between Yamato's legs and Taichi's lips fell upon Yamato's cheek. Yamato tightened his legs around Taichi when he felt hot breath fan over his ear. Taichi shifted himself forward and their hips collided. Though it was such a small action, the sensation of them pressed together could have been described as purly erotic. Through the thin undergarments they could each feel each other's form and hardness; the closest they had ever been to each other._

_Yamato took in a deep breath to stop from making a noise and wrapped his arms around Taichi's shoulders. Taichi flopped forward slightly and held his hips forward, enjoying the pressure placed on him, and the quiet little noises that Yamato didn't realise he was releasing. Taichi shifted to grind into Yamato and they both shivered with excitement at the pleasure and heat that gathered within them._

_With glistening eyes, Yamato looked up at Taichi, unable to hide his heaving breath._

_"So...what now?"_

_Feeling so sure of himself in the moment, Taichi didn't hesitate to answer. He lowly whispered into Yamato's ear,_

_"This."_

_before delving beneath the elastic barrier of Yamato's boxers. Yamato flailed in shock; kicking out his legs and digging his nails into Taichi's neck. Taichi didn't really mind the pain though. The fact that Yamato wasn't pushing away was a reward in itself._

_Taichi wasn't sure if it was because he'd had a bit to drink, if it was a result of some of the second hand drug smoke he'd inhaled, or if his hormones were clouding his judgement, but he found himself entranced by the feel of Yamato in his hands. The skin was smooth and soft, but when he softly squeezed the organ he could feel the solid core that hardened even further beneath his touch. He could also feel a pulse drumming against his fingers where the blood raced down to meet his hand. Unlike what he'd expected, there were uncountable differences between holding Yamato and holding himself. He became fascinated by the sensation._

_He first experimented with pressure, watching Yamato's face carefully for reactions to judge what he liked. Yamato had allowed his head to droop to the side, not wanting to embarrass himself by making eye contact with Taichi. He became super aware of what Taichi's hands were doing as a result of having nothing to occupy his mind with. He could feel Taichi rolling each of his fingers, testing him, forcing him to endure every tiny sensation that only teased, not satisfied. The true torture didn't come until Taichi decided to experiment with movement._

_Yamato quickly released one of his hands from Taichi's neck and clamped it over his mouth, smothering the broken whine that he was unable to cage. Taichi had begun to move his hand slowly across his shaft. Yamato blamed the long, dramtic build up for his sensitivity. It would usually take a lot more than just a few strokes for him to start making noises in bed. There'd even been some times where he hadn't made any noises at all. Taichi's cruel pace was bordering on an act of sadism._

_His pace remained slow and coordinated even when he sped up a little, keeping Yamato on a metaphorical leash when it came to his sexual satisfaction. However, after watching Yamato writhe and shudder, Taichi found himself suffering from his own lack of action as well. He had never been one that could be considered patient._

_"Yama."_

_He cooed and rested his forhead against Yamato's rising chest._

_"Could you...touch me too?"_

_Yamato admitted to himself that he was hesitant to touch him. Even with the sufficient...distraction. But he was not one to receive one sided satisfaction. He reached forward slowly and dipped his fingers into Taichi's underwear._

_Yamato discovered his sense of touch to be heightened when he reached for Taichi. He was highly conscioius of the soft material of Taichi's boxers, the heat that radiated from the skin underneath, and the coarseness of the trail of hair that led down to his manhood. The concoction of adrenalin, hormones and alcohol that tainted Yamato's body helped with the gathering of bravery to finally reach down and confidently grasp Taichi's erection. Yamato quickly thought over what he knew would feel good for Taichi based on his own experiences. Then, despite the difficult angle of his hand, he began to stroke and squeeze, listening carefully to when Taichi's breath would hitch._

_Taichi sighed and leant forward to reward Yamato with a kiss, which was returned with great enthusiasm. Taichi began to speed up his hand to match the pace that Yamato had set, not wanting to be the one to finish first. He worked his lips with as much diligence and care as he worked his hand, and Yamato did the same. It became a competition once more; who could last longer, who could kiss with more passion, who could make the other moan? _

_The sound of breathing in the room became louder and rougher. The two boys took gasping breaths around each others lips, refusing to break the kiss no matter how light headed they felt._

_Yamato felt it first. A white flame raged in his gut and an ache tightly clenched around his core, urging his hips forward to meet Taichi's hand. He couldn't think to keep moving his hand or interact with Taichi's kiss. All he could do was curb the violent shudders that he could feel running through him. His body tightened, and he finally allowed himself to moan freely. It was a broken but soft noise, cut short when his throat clamped shut reflexively. _

_Taichi read the signs and worked harder to bring Yamato over the edge first. He moved his lips across Yamato's face and clamped them over his earlobe, nibbling, sucking and licking while he pumped Yamato to completion. He felt Yamato's organ in his hand pulse and twitch before finally releasing his orgasm into his boxers._

_As Yamato's body tensed so did his hand that clasped Taichi's erection, applying a pressure that made Taichi gasp and thrust forward. With Yamato distracted by his own release Taichi found his pleasure in using Yamato's still hand. Taichi put his hand around Yamato's so to hold it in place and thrust into it, panting heavily into Yamato's ear. His orgasm came quickly and with a low groan that made his whole body vibrate against Yamato. Before he settled into his state of bliss Taichi wiped the remains on his hands onto his boxers and pulled Yamato towards him using the creamy thigh that rested over his hip. _

_Although Yamato was not in the mood for close contact he allowed Taichi to wrap his arms around him. It wasn't the intimacy that he wanted to avoid, but the unbearable heat; Taichi's hot breath fanned his face, his hot chest pressed against his own, and his hot arms completely surrounded him. It felt like he was about to melt or boil. But, on the other hand, there were some things that he enjoyed about the closeness of their bodies; With heightened senses Yamato found Taichi's musky scent even more alluring than usual, and the feeling of having Taichi's heart pounding against him gave Yamato a sense of completion. This was a closeness that he had never experienced before, but now found it painful to think about living without experiencing it ever again. He wrapped his own arms around Taichi's neck and arched into Taichi's painful heat._

_After a few moments of rest Taichi breathed tenderly over Yamato's ear and made a short humming sound that substituted a lazy laugh._

_"mmm...You sound like a kitten when you come."_

_He whispered playfully and stroked his hands over Yamato's back. Yamato grumpily pushed Taichi back so that he nearly fell off of the edge of the bed._

_"And you sound like a bear on steroids."_

_Yamato growled, now slightly more awake than he had been. Taichi smiled, enjoying the light hearted atmosphere that surrounded them. Just as he had predicted, nothing had changed. They were still able to joke as usual, and hold each other in innocence. Taichi pinched Yamato's nose and shifted closer to him._

_"Oi! I meant what I said as a compliment."_

_In reply he received a dirty glare from Yamato's tired eyes before the blond growled impatiently._

_"Can I go to sleep now?"_

_"You could, but I'd have to wake you up every two hours."_

_Yamato slammed his hands onto the mattress._

_"Fuuuck. I don't know if it's worth it."_

_Taichi sat up and leant over Yamato with an excited smile._

_"Why not do the fun thing and stay up with me? We could watch a horror movie and make out on the sofa."_

_Yamato snorted and smirked up at Taichi, his swollen lips stretching accross his face humorously._

_"What is this, some kind of date?"_

_"It's not a proper date until you end up screaming like a girl and jumping into my arms."_

_"Please. You really think you're better than me at handling scary movies?"_

_"Why don't we watch some so that you can prove me wrong?"_

_Yamato chewed on the inner lining of his lips for a few seconds while he thought it over. Then he sighed, and his whole face relaxed along with his body, as though his entire being fell into submission. He opened his eyes with a nod and sat up carefully._

_"Fine. Let's do it. I'm going to have a shower first. Might wake me up a bit."_

_Taichi watched curiously as Yamato pulled up his boxers and dragged himself off of the bed. Yamato braced his hands on his hips and stretched his back on his way over to the dresser. He grabbed his towel and pyjamas, noting at the back of his mind that Taichi was still watching him from the bed. __Leaning on his elbows, Taichi mischievously smiled and batted his eyes at Yamato before asking,_

_"Do you want me to come too? I could wash your back for you."_

_Yamato hung his towel over his arm and sharply pointed to Taichi like he would a disobedient dog._

_"Down, boy."_

_He laughed, and Taichi took the command in good humour as well, smiling a little wider himself. Yamato shook his head and made his way towards the bedroom door._

_"You can clean yourself up in my Dad's bathroom if you want. Just don't make a mess.__"_

_As he got up off the bed and pulled up his own boxers, Taichi called out to Yamato who was tiredly making his way down the hall._

_"What movie do you want to watch after you clean up then?"_

_"Anything you want, sweetheart."_

_Taichi chuckled to himself and flopped back down onto the bed, taking in a deep inhale of Yamato's scent on the pillow along with the dull remains of cigarette smoke that had sunk into the fabric. He didn't feel like getting up just yet. His legs still felt all tingly and the bed was so comfortable and warm. What he wanted to do was pull Yamato onto the bed and fall asleep with his head on Yamato's belly, just like they used to do as kids when they camped out on the floor together. _

_He eventually found the will to leave the bed when he heard the sound of the shower turn on down the hall._

* * *

"And rest your chin here please, Mr Ishida."

The contraption looked like something from the film 'Minority Report'. It was a futuristic white metal, with bars that were fitted to hold his head and jaw in place, and all sorts of buttons and screens surrounded it.

"Please, place your chin here, and bite down on this."

He reluctantly slid towards the machine and moved his head so that his chin rested on the bar it was supposed to and his front teeth bit down on a grooved tab. If he wasn't feeling on edge by now, the female dentist worsened his worry when she grabbed the back of his head and pushed him further into the machine, nearly denting the flat of his chin on the bar. Then, she twisted a few knobs and several clamps closed in on his head to hold him in place.

"This will only take a second. Please close your eyes and stay as still as possible. Don't move until I have come back into the room."

She left the room and turned off the lights. He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the x-ray start to buzz and hum while a silence void of life was layered beneath it. He could sense the machine rotating around his head and tried to focus on anything else to keep his nerves in check.

He'd tried to put off this dentist appointment as long as possible. With the problems he'd been having he was frightened that he'd need braces or something, which was completely unacceptable for a working adult, especially one who's profession was partially dependant on his appearance. After all, he couldn't make good music when his braces would whistle every time he tried to sing.

The machine clicked, the lights were turned on, and the assistant walked back into the room.

"Alright, you can just take a seat back in my room while I look this over."

Yamato pulled out of the small head rest in the x-ray and stalked out of the room, picking up his bag that had been leaning against the wall as he left. He did as she told him to and sat down in the reclined dentist's chair. He fidgeted, bit his nails, rummaged in his bag looking for nothing in particular, but as soon as she walked in he sat back in his chair as though he were completely calm. She sat in her own chair by the computer and brought up the picture of his x-ray on the screen, humming and tutting as she pulled at the mask over the bottom half of her face.

"So...is my jaw broken or something?"

"Nope. Nothing seems to be wrong with the joint, but it is just as I thought."

Yamato sat upright to have a better look while she used her finger to signal to a specific area on the picture.

"Your back teeth have been worn down quite a bit. See that the furthest are shorter than the side few? You've probably been clenching your jaw or grinding your teeth unconsciously."

"But why does it lock up in the morning? I can't even open it enough to drink my coffee."

"Well, your jaw clenches the most while you are asleep, and because of that extra tension you put on the muscles it seizes up in the mornings. It's most likely stress."

Yamato huffed sarcastically.

"Great."

Another ailment apparently caused by stress. Perfect. His body was obviously trying to get the important message across, if it hadn't already done so with the rash on his shoulder; or the aching feet; or the neck pain; or the hand cramps; or the shortness of breath; or the lethargy; or the lack of appetite. No. The body of Yamato Ishida just had to make sure to remind him one more time about this stress that he didn't realise he had. What the hell was there to stress about? It wasn't as though he had a steady job to worry about...or a family.

Yamato leant over his knee and looked at her blankly.

"So, what should I do?"

The dentist kept her professional demeanour, despite being annoyed by his less than grateful response.

"You need to learn to relax if you want to keep your teeth until you get into your thirties. But, for now, I can organise for you to get caps on your back teeth. I'll also take a mould of your teeth for a mouth guard for you to wear at night. These aren't going to solve the problem entirely, but they should fix a few short term problems."

With a sarcastic 'thumbs up' he muttered.

"Thanks."

She nodded and began preparing something at a working space, with her back turned to him so that he couldn't see.

"Now, Mr Ishida, This is going to feel strange, but I need you to stay very still."

Yamato panicked when she turned around, seeing the disgusting plate of gooey, purple, moulding clay that she intended to put in his mouth. He forced himself to open his mouth and she pressed the goo into the roof of his mouth. With his mouth suspended open by her fingers he couldn't stop the drops of saliva that dribbled down the side of his mouth. He cringed, hating the feeling and resisted the desire to throw the dentist off of him and escape.

* * *

Yamato exhaled tiredly and leant against the front door of his apartment that he had closed behind him. It had been a long day, and it still wasn't even later than six o'clock. All he wanted to do now was curl up on his bed in a bathrobe with a glass of whiskey and a magazine.

"So, what did they say?"

His roommate asked from their sofa, where he sat on his laptop typing some work related document. Yamato dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his loose trainers. He fell down like a dropped doll onto the sofa next to his roommate and leant forward onto his knees lethargically.

"Stress."

He mumbled, rubbing at a shallow crease between his eyes that he had just reently noticed. The other male pulled his glasses off from the end of his nose and turned his shaded blue eyes to Yamato, not looking particularly amused.

"Seriously? Again?"

Yamato folded his arms behind his head and leant back into the back of the leather sofa.

"I'm getting a retainer in a few weeks."

"Where on earth is all this 'stress' coming from? By the way that you're falling apart one would assume that you work in a prison or something."

"It must be a subconscious thing, considering how little I do to cause any kind of stress."

"Maybe it's because this isn't your home country. It can be difficult to integrate; especially if you're by yourself."

Fitting his glasses back onto his nose he turned back to his laptop to continue typing. Yamato answered with a distant look in his eyes directed towards the ceiling.

"Yeah."

Now that he thought about, the second anniversary of his move was coming up in a month or so. Sometimes he'd forget how long it had been; even convincing himself on occasions that he'd been in America all his life.

Yamato shook the thought out of his head quite literally and managed to pull his tired body to standing.

"I'm going to put my pyjamas on."

He mumbled and swayed towards his bedroom. From behind him he heard his roommate mutter about how lazy he was, but he didn't really care. He wasn't used to being on his feet all day.

He rubbed his eyes and flicked on the light switch, revealing his messy bedroom. Lots of half scribbled pieces of music were scattered on the floor, along with clothes that he'd planned to wear but changed his mind and thrown about. He didn't really care too much to clean it up. After all, mess in a bedroom is what gave it 'character'. He stumbled over to the bed to grab his pyjamas from underneath the pillow, but found a curled up ball of pale fur stopping him.

"Ken, I thought I told you to keep Butter out of my room."

He called out to his roommate and tucked his hands under the Abyssinian's belly to pick her up. Having just woken up being suspended in mid air she scrambled around for a moment before jumping backwards to claw at his t-shirt. Yamato chuckled and reached under his pillow to pull out his bedclothes. Then he tucked his arm beneath the squirming cat for her to easily rest on, which she instantly settled into, while he carried her back to the living area.

Ken barely looked up from his laptop screen to answer his previous question.

"She was too persistent. I didn't have the heart to deny her something she wanted so badly."

"But now my pillow's going to be all furry."

"Your cat. Your fault."

"You're so sympathetic."

Yamato snorted sarcastically and leant against the door frame. Butter was fidgeting in his arms, pawing at his shirt and batting at his cheek playfully. He tried to distract her by rubbing under her chin with his finger, but in her now awake and playful mood she began to gnaw at the finger he had stroked her with. Yamato retracted it quickly and tapped her on the nose.

"Oi! Hitobito wo kamu koto ha warui*."

"I don't think she can understand you, Yamato."

"Well she doesn't seem to understand me when I speak English either, so I thought that I might as well give Japanese a try."

Yamato repositioned the wriggling cat in his hands so that he could press his nose to hers.

"I should just get rid of you if you keep ripping up my pillows and biting my fingers all the time."

he told her, almost seeming serious if it weren't for the small cat trying to eat his nose while he was talking. With a sigh he lowered her to the floor where she gave a quick nip to his leg before dashing off back to her sleeping place on Yamato's pillow.

"Have we got any of that Southern Comfort left?"

Yamato asked on his way to the kitchen area to rummage through all the cupboards to find some kind of alcohol. Over the sound of his fingers skating ceaselessly over his laptop keyboard Ken replied.

"You can't mix alcohol with your sleeping pills."

"So I'll drink twice as much to make up for not taking the pills."

Ken stopped typing to give Yamato a long, stern look. When he didn't make any kind of comment Yamato leant over the kitchen counter and spoke again.

"Or, I'll take twice as many sleeping pills to make up for not drinking the alcohol."

"It's in the cupboard above the sink. At least use a glass, please."

"Thanks."

Yamato laughed and fetched the bottle and a short glass. There was no point putting ice in the glass or mixing the alcohol with another drink. He just wanted a few sips to help him wind down. His shoulders were still tense from the ride home on his bike; he'd almost hit an incompetent cab driver who had been oblivious to everything, even after Yamato had screeched to a halt in inch away from his window.

Yamato left his glass on the counter to quickly change into his bedclothes; just some loose pyjama pants and an old band t-shirt that he wasn't particularly fond of. Then, after reuniting himself with his half filled glass of the oak coloured alcohol, Yamato slumped back into the sofa, comfortable enough to just have his drink in silence while Ken caught up on his work. He knew better than to turn on the television while Ken was working. That was precisely how he first experienced the dark haired man's wrath.

Trying harder to relax, Yamato untied his short ponytail and let his head flop backwards over the top of the sofa. He rolled the drink in his hand, taking a sip every few minutes, and tried not to think about the things that needed to be sorted out the next day.

After a little while Ken decided to take his own break and carefully folded his glasses to tuck into his shirt pocket.

"So, when is your next gig?"

He asked and leant back into the sofa like Yamato, only there was still something that seemed too...organised about Ken's position; the way he kept his legs closely tucked together while Yamato's were sprawled out in front of him, and how his shirt barely wrinkled as he slumped back while Yamato's t-shirt was crumpled up above his belly button.

Yamato lazily rolled his eyes over to Ken's direction before taking a swig from his glass and answering.

"Thursday."

"Is the pay good?"

"It's not too bad. Enough to put towards that bass guitar I've been looking at."

Yamato set the glass on the coffee table before continuing.

"The only real down side is that last time I performed there I got a lot of prejudice. It was one of my first performances, so my accent was still really strong."

"Well, it may be different this time. You can hardly tell that English isn't your native language anymore. Besides, they must have thought that you were good if they asked you to come back."

Then, Ken stood up slowly and turned to face the figure sprawled over the sofa.

"You'll be great, as always."

He smiled and put his hands on his hips.

Yamato woke up a bit at Ken's words and scanned his friend's face carefully. Ken's expression seemed sincere, meaning that he hadn't meant his complement to be sarcastic or a joke; something that was kind of rare when it came to Ken saying something complimentary. That's why Yamato found it a bit difficult to answer at first. His humble upbringing was forcing up the urge to reject the praise he'd been given. But he bit his lip, knowing that it would seem insulting to undermine the comment. So, he smiled brightly and raised his glass from the coffee table.

"Thanks, Ken."

Then Yamato swallowed the rest of his glass and put it back on the table. With a nod Ken walked off to his own room to change into his own pyjamas after he began to envy Yamato's comfort. When he came back into the room Yamato was already asleep against the arm of the sofa. His blonde hair was splayed messily over his face, his leg twitched like a dog's, and he snored like a baby.

"Yamato, you will catch a cold if you sleep there."

Yamato barely twitched, deep enough in sleep to be completely dead to the world. With a growl Ken stormed over to the narrow closet on the other side of the room to fetch a blanket. As cute as Yamato was when he was asleep, Ken was angry that the dolt was cluttering up his living room by falling asleep in such a place. After all, he still had work to do, and now he wouuld have to work on his bed like some kind of 'high school brat' doing his homework. He threw the blanket at the sleeping man carelessly, not checking to see if it had landed where it was supposed to; the gesture was just an example of good manners after all. Then he picked up his closed laptop from the coffee table as he circled around the room to his own bedroom.

But, before actually entering the room he stopped beneath the door frame, feeling this niggling urge to look back over his shoulder. And so he did, realising why he had that feeling at the sight of Yamato. The crumpled blanket lay across the sleeping man's feet and dragged onto the floor, not offering him any kind of protection from the night's cold.

Cursing his kind nature Ken tucked the laptop under his arm andd headed back over to Yamato. He picked up the blanket from the floor and shook out any dust and creasees before throwing it over the sofa, now covering the sleeping man up to his shoulders. Sensing an added warmth, a sleeping Yamato curled himself into the folds of the blanket and loosened the hands that had been unconsciously clenching his shirt. With a sigh of amusement Ken tucked the blanket around Yamato's neck and shoulders before brushing the blonde strings of hair away from his face.

"You're the one that's supposed to be tucking me in, idiot. You're the older one."

Yamato answered with a sleepy cough and scratched his chin with his shoulder before settling. Ken backed off into his room to finish off his work in peace.

* * *

* It's bad to bite people

* * *

**over 27,000 words! That's like more than 9 essays worth of writing!**

**Also I feel as though I've ended the scenes in really odd places, but it's so late right now and I'm desperate to get this posted. So, I'm very sorry that this chapter doesn't flow as well as it should. I improvised most of the writing. I'll probably tighten it up a bit more when I have more time.**

**Sorry about the awful wait. I'm at Uni now, so there has been all the hassle of finding a place to live and settling in. Independence is frightening, and it's difficult to write in a place that feels strange to me, especially when it comes to writing something so...personal. So I gave myself a bit of time to get comfortable, both in the environment and sorting out my life living alone.**

**Anyway, I know this is a teensy bit of a filler chapter, but I felt like I needed to tell the history that I had planned out between Yamato and Taichi, and I also wanted to include a bit of smutt before the fic got a bit too depressing. I wanted to show that Taichi and Yamato didn't take their sexual relationship too seriously at first. I also wanted to show that Yamato is a changed person in the 'present time' of this fic. He used to be young, rebellious and laid back to some extent. Infact, I wanted to make it seem like he was more of a party animal than Taichi was to start with. Then I just sandwhiched the flashback inbetween two glimpses of life for Taichi and Yamato nearly two years after Yamato's dissappearance. Basically, this is all important info for the next chapter which I'm hoping will come sooner, but I'm not sure of it. I haven't gotten too much work so far but I have an awful feeling that it's going to pile up.**

**Thanks to everyone that's stuck by me and reviewed. Even critical reviews have actually helped me a bit in realising what I need to include in this fic.**

**Hope to hear from you all. Any words are appreciated :)**

**Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper**


	5. Chapter 5

_I know all this font changing is confusing, but sadly I'm not entirely fluent in Japanese and it would be rather difficult translating all this text not only for myself but for you guys as well so, effective as of this chapter..._

_While in America: **Bold text is for people speaking in Japanese**_

_While in Japan: **Bold text is for people speaking in English**_

_Italics is usually reserved for author notes and the occasional flashback or something. So, anyway, the bold in this chapter is supposed to be Japanese._

_Enjoy the new chapter_

**Money and Martyrdom**

* * *

He hadn't worn a suit in what seemed like years, and Yamato found himself more sensitive than usual to the restrictions of the jacket that he'd buttoned up hastily. He straightened his shirt collar and brushed the hair out of his face while, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the numbers on the digital clock flash and change to read 8:13.

"Shit. I'm going to be late!"

He said to himself, but he spoke loud enough for his roommate in the other room, sipping his morning coffee, to hear him.

Yamato quickly grabbed his scrappy cotton bag that leant against the wall and shovelled into it the papers and essentials that lay strewn across his desk. Had he been more organised he probably would have invested in a smarter bag to match the suit that he wore. He realised that mistake when he looked in the mirror for the last time and clearly noticed how the patchy grey bag counteracted with the impression he was trying to make by wearing such professional clothes.

He waved away his worry. Deciding that he had no time to dwell on the problem any longer he dashed out of his bedroom, grabbing his bike helmet and leathers on the way.

Ken, who sat at the island in their kitchen, swallowed his mouthful of coffee and looked to Yamato who was struggling to fit into his bike wear.

"I told you that you should have set your alarm for seven."

He bragged and straightened out the newspaper on the counter top. Yamato flicked his head to get the hair out of his eyes and gave Ken a frustrated glare.

"Be quiet! Your job is to reassure me, not put me down! Now, tell me that I look smart and sophisticated and that I will most definitely get the job."

Ken took a break from his reading to give Yamato a swoop over with his eyes. The older man looked so different in a suit. He hadn't gelled up his hair into his usual messy style, opting to let it flow freely since it was too short to put into a pony tail or pin back. Several shades of blonde hung around his face and brushed over the high collar of the button up shirt, looking bright and soft in comparison to the heavy charcoal jacket. Ken had helped him pick out the suit and he was glad now that they didn't buy a tie. It wouldn't have suited him. The shirt alone looked as though it was choking the man, no matter how loose the collar fitted around the slender neck.

Ken reached for his coffee and chuckled into his mug before replying.

"You look smart, and if you don't mess up then you will most likely get the job."

Yamato zipped the protective leather jacket over his suit and rolled his eyes.

"Thanks. Do you want me to cook you dinner or are you going to be late tonight?"

"I'll probably be late. But it'd be nice if you could save me some leftovers."

"Alright, I'll save you a plate. See you later."

With bag and helmet in hand he sprinted out of the apartment, leaving enough time for Ken to call out a final 'good luck' before the door was slammed shut.

He bounded in pairs the set of stairs to the parking lot and dashed over to his bike, slipping on his helmet while he jogged. His Kawasaki W650waited for him obediently in its usual parking space in the lot. Although no vehicle could ever replace the treasure that was his first car, his bike came in a close second. It was his key to the busy city. Journeys were cut in half when he could weave around traffic with ease and fit into the tightest of parking spaces. It was one of the first things he'd bought when he arrived in the country, after his main priority of finding a place to stay. Straddling his crimson and steel steed he kicked off the stand and pushed off onto the maze of roads.

It had been a while since he'd had a proper job interview, or even a proper job for that matter. It wasn't just the speed of the bike that was making his stomach flop and his forehead moisten. Nerves set in once again. He didn't have any answers prepared for their questions or any decided song ideas for when they asked for a demonstration. He only had a few crumpled copies of his résumé nestled in the bag on his shoulders, and a pricey suit that he hoped would compensate for his short comings that were quickly seeming quite numerous.

His interest in the job wasn't entirely because of the pleasing paycheque he'd receive at the end of it. Money hadn't been an issue for a long time. He had a collection of regular gigs and even got a fair amount of requests for him to play at some popular clubs and bars. But this was a job opportunity that he couldn't ignore. He didn't specifically know what the pay was; only that it would be enough to buy him that sexy amp set he'd been lusting after, and a chance to start setting up his own shows in proper venues. Just the mental image of a lit up stage and his own backup musicians was more than enough to motivate him to send off his application and just about enough to risk humiliating himself in front of several highly prestigious and wealthy businessmen.

There was no time to go to a toilet to change out of his protective gear when he arrived in front of the extravagant hotel. He hobbled across the pavement and into the lobby, unzipping the layers of leather and struggling out of them as he reached the reception desk.

"Excuse me, I was called here for an interview with Frank Lanely, I'm Yamato Ishida."

He tucked his helmet under his arm as he spoke to the uniformed receptionist. As an employee in such an esteemed hotel her pay was handsome enough for her to almost look genuinely pleased to help him. With a smile she looked at a few papers at her desk and nodded when she found the information needed.

"Okay, Mr Lanely is in the main hall just to the left. You can go right on in, he should be waiting for you."

"Thank you."

He folded his leathers into his bag as he walked across the lobby, gaping in awe at the lavishness of the building. He donated all of his attention to marvelling at the textured ceiling designs, the polished marble flooring, the paintings with gold leaf frames, the silver and glass lamps on the wall that lit the way to his destination and all the other luxurious decorations. He was far too entranced to feel intimidated by the splendour of the establishment. But he did unconsciously pull at his bag upon the realisation of how very out of place he was.

The main hall was just as amazing. The hall was bare while there were no functions planned, leaving a naked space nearly three times the size of his whole apartment, all covered with a rich smelling, varnished oak floor. There in the far corner, beside a sleek black grand piano, was one table and a few chairs where currently sat was one man in a suit. The sound of Yamato's shoes tapping across the wooden floor was what alerted the stranger of Yamato's presence, and the man raised himself from his chair to greet him.

"Ah, Ishida, I presume."

The two men met halfway across the majestic hall and Yamato quickly absorbed the man's appearance before answering. His obviously expensive suit was immaculately pressed, his face clean shaven down to the very roots and the sides of his dark hair showed traces of maturing grey. Overall he looked very much like an experienced, self driven and self assured type of person. Yamato felt very young in his presence. He found himself stuttering as he took the stranger's hand that was offered to him.

"Y-Yes. I'm Yamato Ishida."

"I'm Frank Lanely, the manager of the hotel."

His hand was steady and as he shook Yamato's sweating limb in a highly professional manner. Gathering his bearings Yamato managed to bring up a smile.

"Nice to meet you. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity."

The man laughed at Yamato's nervous attempt at formality and Yamato unsteadily laughed at himself as well.

"I've heard good things about you. You're not American, are you? You have an accent."

Yamato cleared his throat and tried to form his next sentence without being distracted by how conscious he was of his own accent. He spoke slowly.

"No, I'm originally from Japan."

"Japan? Really? You don't look very..."

Lanely chose to finish his sentence with hand gestures rather than words, avoiding saying anything that may seem offensive or stereotypical. He meant to refer to Yamato's light features.

"My grandfather is French. I suppose I get some of my features from him."

"How exotic. Anyway, the other interviewers will be here momentarily, so for now how about we look at your résumé? Please, take a seat."

He led Yamato over to the table where he had been originally sitting and took a seat across from him. He already had his own printed copy of Yamato's résumé laid out in front of him in a condition that seemed untouched; no dog-eared corners like the several versions that Yamato was keeping in his bag. Yamato dropped his bag between his legs and brushed down his suit while his interviewer hummed and nodded while reading over again what was written. Yamato's entire worth was summarised in a page of bullet points, names and phone numbers.

Lanely rested his arm across the table after a while and his eyes continued tracing the information on the paper while he spoke.

"I have to say that your qualifications are...very different from our other applicants. No degree in music or certified grades. But, you were the youngest I've seen to teach music."

"Well, I didn't have the...financial resources to professionally study music. Most of what I know is self taught."

As soon as he'd spoken he bit his lips shut. It was good to be honest to employers but, was it necessary information to reveal? Did it sound like he was making excuses for himself? Would Lanely have questioned him further if he'd held back information? Yamato seemed to second guess every other word that came out of his mouth. He sat in silence for another moment after Lanely nodded at his answer and turned back to reading the page before him. Lanely then said with an air of indifference

"Sounds to me like you have an admiral enthusiasm, coming so far all by yourself."

Yamato hesitated and tilted his head away, uncertain how to analyse what he'd just heard. Was that a compliment? It sounded like a compliment. Were interviewers allowed to give compliments? Surely that betrayed some sort of confidentiality rule about their opinions. He decided to let it go and take it for what it was; a nice thing to hear during a time where his confidence was wavering, even if it wasn't intended to be that way.

"Thank you, sir. I think that you are the first to think so."

"For your sake you best hope that my colleagues think so as well."

The sound of the door opening was louder than they'd both expected, obviously being forced open harder than necessary by the newcomers. Yamato flinched and turned to see two more men in suits approaching them across the hall.

"And I believe they have just arrived."

Lanely stood up to greet them and Yamato did the same.

"Gentlemen, this is Yamato Ishida, our young applicant for today. Yamato this is John Novak, the event organiser, and Michael Hanes, the host."

Yamato took his cue to step forward once he was gestured to. He almost made the mistake of bowing; the traditional custom for a formal meeting in Japan. But he stopped himself and tried his best to mask the tilt of his body.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for giving me your time."

He offered his hand to first Hanes and then Novak, who both shook it firmly and curtly. Hanes gave almost a smile, but it was buried beneath the several layers of wrinkles on his face.

"It's not a problem."

They all gathered around the table and Yamato passed out the spare crumpled copies of his résumé from his cotton bag. They talked for a while about what Yamato had written down; his experience of performing, his experience in other jobs, he repeatedly explained the reason for his lack of tuition and he also had to explain that he was indeed fluent in English and that there was a very low chance that there would be a difficulty in communicating. They seemed rather nervous about his foreign heritage.

"Alright then Yamato just set yourself up on that piano over there and we'll start talking to you about the job."

Yamato nervously edged over to the piano stool and ran his hands gently enough across the piano keys to not make any sound. Hanes silently observed him with an attentive eye until Yamato was comfortably seated. The elder man then straightened out the résumé on the table before him with a graceful hand before speaking.

"Since you knew about this job opportunity I'm assuming you have an agent."

Yamato anxiously folded the material over his knee and forced himself to keep eye contact.

"Actually it was recommended to me by a friend, Willis Boller[1]. He came to one of my performances and told me about the job."

Lanely jumped to Yamato's defence as soon as Hanes's face began to sour, more for his own sake to defend his reasons for putting forward such a novice as a candidate.

"Mr Boller has helped to organise quite a few music events in the hotel and is known for his good taste. He recommended Yamato as a candidate and spoke quite highly of him to me, so I allowed him to apply for the job."

Hanes held his eyes with Lanely's for a moment before turning back to Yamato with a blank face.

"Okay then. Do you know much about the events?"

"I was briefed shortly."

Hanes's demeanour brightened, receiving joy from the opportunity to talk about his plans.

"Well, these four dinners are annual events and traditional for my family's company. There are going to be a lot of prestigious international guests and important political figures attending so I'm looking for high quality and someone dependable. Now, I don't want to limit your creativity, so you may choose the style of music and what songs you want to play. The band will accommodate you and schedule some rehearsals before each dinner. But I just want to warn you now that I have sat through over fifteen renditions of Frank Sinatra this week alone and I'm very quickly getting very sick of 'elevator jazz'."

When he finished speaking he leaned back in his seat with crossed arms, smirking at Yamato's nervous expression.

"So, start playing when you're ready."

Yamato nodded and gave himself a second to take in all that was said while he held his hands poised over the keys. Hanes's last statement had knocked his confidence a little. He had arrived with a vague idea of what he might play, but the slight possibility of it sounding like 'elevator jazz' had forced him to second guess himself. On the positive side of things, it actually felt quite nice to have a bit of a challenge set for him. It made him want to be a bit more adventurous with his choice of song.

In his mind thousands of sheets of music and song melodies were scattered about, falling from the sky, lining the walls, and he desperately searched through all of them for the perfect song; something that would describe him; something that would flatter his skills; something that would surprise them.

His fingers fell into place over the ivory before he'd even fully made up his mind, and they dropped effortlessly into the first chord. He freed his mind's hold over his other hand as well and it did much the same. The song didn't require his usual delicacy, and the melody rang out in the hall. He was improvising for the introduction, having not fully transcribed the song into piano music, and he worried that the men didn't recognise it or that they thought that he was doing an injustice to it by attempting to cover it.

He licked his lips, unconsciously reminding himself that he had an 'accent' and that this was a seriously risky song to attempt. But he damned himself to try it anyway. There was no microphone to sing into and he wasn't facing his audience enough to engage with them. So, he pretended they weren't there to feel more comfortable with performing. He sang as though he were singing to himself while he let his fingers soften on the keys. His voice left him in a seductive sigh over the quieter tones of the piano.

"Got a black magic woman."

Only he could hear the strutting fingers over the strings of a bass guitar, the tapping of the high hat that sounded like raindrops pattering on a tin roof or the gallop of hands over the skin of the tabla. All such seductive sounds that made his whole body throb in synch with the beat. His whole body arched into the music and swayed into each chord.

"I've got a black magic woman.

"I've got a black magic woman; got me so blind I can't see

"that she's a black magic woman, she's trying to make a devil out of me."

He closed his eyes and allowed his voice to slip from him, reminding his listeners of black silk. Each word would slip down from his lips like dark, sweet, rich syrup. Had anyone less professional or critical been listening to him they would surely blush at the seductive tone of his voice. But the men he performed for watched with straight faces while he executed the musical equivalent of a strip tease for them. He hunched his body into piano to dynamically charge the next few chords.

"Don't turn your back on me, baby.

"Don't turn your back on me, baby.

"Yes, don't turn your back on me, baby, don't mess around with your tricks.

"Don't turn your back on me, baby, 'cause you might just wake up my magic sticks"

He improvised what he could on the piano; adding trills, changing the tempo. The song didn't so much describe him, but describe his style; the seductive side of his personality that he worked into his music, and the passion that music evoked from him that bordered on being sexual. He'd completely forgotten that he was even being watched, allowing him to free himself enough to not be embarrassed by his erotic music. To build up during the last verse he lightened his fingers on the keys and lowered his voice to a soft groan.

"Got your spell on me, baby.

"You got your spell on me, baby.

"Yes, you got your spell on me, baby. You're turning my heart into stone.

"I need you so bad, magic woman, I can't leave you alone[2]."

His crescendo wasn't perfect, but this performance wasn't just about showing off his skills, it was about technique and the ability to 'perform' instead of just play well. Ishida Yamato was nothing if not a showman. He managed to make any mistake look purposeful; every croak in his voice could be mistaken for his raw emotion.

The song ended dramatically with his voice echoing throughout the hall and his hands sliding off of the keys to let the finally chord ride on the air. His chest heaved after the intensity of his performance and once silence returned he stood up with the feeling of having...exposed himself to these strangers. He felt embarrassed but tried his best to feign confidence as he straightened his suit and coughed the strain out from his vocal chords.

His audience allowed him a second to recover while they too gathered themselves. The professional air returned to the room and Hanes crossed his leg in his chair with a blank nod. To be more specific, the professional air had been present in the room the whole time. The issue was simply that Yamato hadn't noticed it while caught up in his performance. At this moment he was highly conscious of the seriousness of his audience. Hanes especially was looking critically at Yamato while he stood before them as a different man from the one that was so passionately performing for them only a moment ago.

"Okay. You will hear from us in late December. The first event takes place on the 19th of January, so if you get the job then you will have enough time to sort out a suit and your music. You needn't do anything until you hear from us. Just keep your schedule free for the time being."

"Thank you very much."

For a second time Yamato almost bowed to thank them, except this time he couldn't pass it off as an accidental motion. So, when he pulled himself back to standing he just smiled with tinted cheeks and walked out from around from behind the piano.

"We'll contact you soon."

"Okay. Thank you for your time."

Yamato picked up his bag and quickly strolled to the door, feeling the tingle of his nerves settle. He released an unrestrained sigh that almost turned into a groan and hoisted his bag further onto his shoulder as he left the hall.

Behind him the three men were uncommonly silent. It was either because they had some much to say that they didn't know where to start or because there really wasn't anything that could be said. Sparing a corner glance at the men sitting either side of him, Novak was the first to break the ice with his derivative comment.

"Seems like a nice kid."

Hanes snorted and folded his hands on the table, covering the résumé that he was no longer interested in.

"He's hardly a kid at twenty eight years old."

Lanely ignored the both of them and leant back in his chair, looking at the piano and recreating Yamato's performance in his mind. He listed out loud to draw attention back to what was important about their applicant rather than his age.

"He's talented, without doubt. He has a strong voice, if not a little untrained. He's stylish with his music and confident, and with that face he'd certainly end up being a big attraction."

"Yes. There is something quite exotic about him, isn't there? He might even increase the guest count."

Hanes, ever the realist, was not swayed by Yamato's charm. He picked up the résumé again and looked over the foreign names written down.

"If we're really serious about him we're going to need a translator to confirm some of this information. I mean, he was a music tutor but he doesn't mention having a degree or licence."

"Maybe he was a private tutor."

"Or maybe he's lying. The only thing we have as a judge of ability is the short performance we received."

"We only privately advertised the job, right? So if he was recommended for an interview then he must be good."

Lanely once again jumped in to save the decision he'd made to offer their time to an untrained musician.

"Yes. It wasn't just Boller that spoke highly of him. I recall one of my clients having attended one of his performances as well."

Hanes flicked his wrist to take a glance at his watch and stood up from his chair.

"We will continue this discussion another time. Right now, I have another matter to deal with."

Novak, like a trained dog, followed Hanes obediently with no gesture spared to Lanely who held in his seat. The seated man offered no goodbye to them either, keeping his eyes on the piano stool that had been occupied by such an intriguing man not too long ago.

* * *

Yamato dropped his shitty cotton bag by the door along with his helmet and released a long, tired yet satisfied, sigh. He was filled with a sense of relief. The world was now shut out and he was back in his comfort zone; no ties, no wrist watches, no marbled floors or textured wallpaper in sight. Leaning against the door he let a smile grace his lips. He'd done well to not completely humiliate himself. At least, that was his opinion. He wouldn't know for sure until he received the fate changing call in a few weeks.

He looked around the apartment, feeling an emptiness of sorts without Ken's usual company. It wasn't as though the man made much of an impression in the household. He was always rather quiet and preferred to work in solitude. But without him the apartment seemed to have a lack of life; something that had always made Yamato feel a bit uneasy. Before he could feel too lonely though, Butter made herself known by rubbing her head against his ankles, asking for her evening meal. With a grateful smile Yamato lifted her gently and tucked her into his neck while he made his way through the apartment.

To feel a bit more at home he turned on every light switch that he passed as he walked down the hall towards the living room and kitchen, and he turned on the television to a low volume as well to aggravate the heavy silence. In the lush apartment he was so lucky to afford the walls were quite thick. This was thought to be a good thing when he remembered all of the uncomfortable or disturbing noises he would hear through the walls of his first apartment in America. But it was also a little upsetting that the nights felt so completely dead when he couldn't catch the comforting sounds of the world being awake.

Yamato set his bike keys in the bowl by the kitchen door and filled Butter's bowl with her dinner before he went about planning his own. He pulled out what food he could find in the kitchen and set it all on the counter, trying to improvise some kind of recipe. He had yet to realise it, but since he met Ken he was always taking the other man's tastes into consideration when thinking of what to cook, even if Ken didn't want any dinner that evening.

After chopping his vegetables and meats he filled a heated pan with oil on the stove and set to making some kind of spontaneous stir fry. He almost dropped the spatula when the sound of the phone ringing knocked all current thoughts of spices and seasonings out of his head. He looked at his food sizzling in the pan and quickly debated whether it would be safe to leave it cooking while he answered. He ended up resting the spatula on the edge of the pan and turned down the heat before reaching for the phone attached to the kitchen wall.

"Hello, Yamato speaking."

He cheerily answered and tucked the phone into his shoulder while he washed his hands.

"**Oh, hello. Is this Ishida Yamato?"**

Yamato almost dropped the phone into the sink. He recognised the language from the first word but he didn't recognise the voice. This was a woman's voice. With his hands still soaking wet he gripped the phone.

"**Y-Yes. Who is this?"**

He tried to analyse their voice as quickly as possible, trying to determine whether he knew them or not. He turned off the stove all together.

"**My name is Watanabe Mitsuki. I am Watanabe Shou's wife."**

He loosened his grip on the phone. The name Watanabe brought him comfort; it stood for ally. Although suspicion was roused when he questioned why he wasn't receiving a phone call from Watanabe-san himself.

"**O-Oh. Hello. How can I help you?"**

"**I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but you understand that I can't necessarily come to you personally."**

Her tone was worrying. He could already guess what she was going to say next.

"**My husband passed away last night."**

Yamato felt a ghostly hand reach down his throat and grab his heart. The semi permeable fingers squeezed the organ that was pumping at double its normal rate and Yamato found it hard to stay standing. He leaned against the counter and wrapped his free arm around his midsection, coiling in on himself.

"**Oh...I...I'm so sorry. What was...h-how did he...uh..."**

He was grateful that she interrupted. He didn't think he could have finished that sentence even if he had all the time in the world.

"**He passed away in his sleep. I'm sorry to have to tell you this way."**

"**No, no, I understand completely. Thank you for calling me. He was a good friend to me."**

"**I'm organising a service in Tokyo around the end of December but the date is undecided. I'm sorry for it being so late but he knew so many people it's becoming impossible to gather them all in one place. You're not obligated to come but you would be welcomed there."**

"**I'll try my best."**

"**Let me give you my number. If you have any troubles getting a flight then don't hesitate to call. I'd be more than happy to help."**

"**Thank you so much, but that won't be necessary."**

"**Well take my number anyway. You can call me to confirm whether you're coming or not."**

"**Alright."**

He abandoned the kitchen completely to find a pen and wrote down the number on the back page of a magazine on the coffee table.

"**Thank you so much Watanabe-san. My thoughts go out to you and your family."**

"**Thank you. I hope to hear from you soon."**

He hung up the phone when he heard her pull away from the speaker. He dropped it onto the sofa before dropping his body next to it. From the kitchen the smell of his dinner began to thin as the food cooled on the stove and he found it to be much less appetising as it was when he was cooking it. He wiped away a sweat that had gathered at his hairline.

"Kuso[3]."

He mumbled, looking at the phone that had fallen towards him on the sofa. He wanted it to ring. He wanted someone to want to talk to him. But who was there left? What true friends did he really have left?

Shaking his head he picked the silent phone back up and headed to the kitchen to put it back in its cradle. The patting sound of Butter's tongue lapping at her food reassured Yamato that he wasn't completely alone, offering small comfort. The food on the stove no longer looked as appetising. The colours of the meats looked all wrong, the vegetables looked soggy instead of soft and the sauce looked gloopy and thick. Dinner didn't seem like a good idea any more, but he knew that he had to finish cooking it if not for Ken's sake. But, Ken wouldn't be home until late. He had enough time to start again.

He picked up his bike keys intent on buying more supplies more for his own sake than for the sake of his dinner.

* * *

Ken tucked his thumb under the strap of his laptop case to straighten it out on his shoulder. It had gotten inconveniently twisted on his journey up the stairs to the apartment. The first thing he noticed when he reached the apartment was the light that leaked out from the crease beneath the front door. Usually when he came home this late the apartment was too quiet to even home ghosts.

He slipped in quietly and pushed the door slowly shut, thinking that maybe Yamato had fallen asleep on the sofa. He called out softly to check.

"Yamato?"

"Ken? I'm in the living room."

Ken jumped when he received an answer from Yamato who sounded completely awake. It was now that he noticed the sound of the television as well. He abandoned his cautious entrance into the apartment and kicked off his shoes by the door before finding the living room. Yamato sat slouched so deeply into the sofa it looked as though it was chewing on him. A lazy hand was kneading Butter's neck. His eyes were blank as he stared past an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table to the TV where some typical late night trash was showing. Ken lowered his laptop to the floor and watched the lights from the television flicker over Yamato's tired face.

"You're still up? It's two a.m."

"Sorry. I was just about to go to bed actually."

Yamato aimed the TV control weakly and switched off the screen, but he didn't make any move to get up. Ken looked at the liquor bottle on the table and noted the price sticker that was still stuck to its side. It had obviously been bought not too long ago, and that was a bad sign.

"Have you been drinking tonight?"

Butter scampered off when she felt Yamato shift and decided to take a nap on her owner's bed since he wasn't using it anyway. Yamato's knees wobbled as he stood up and he realised just how long he must've been sitting there. Tingles were already beginning to set in the soles of his feet where the blood began to circulate again. He knocked against the bottle with the back of his hand as he turned to Ken.

"Oh, this? No, I haven't had any, don't worry."

"So what's wrong? You bought this today, right?"

"Yeah."

Yamato nodded quietly and scratched his shoulder. Ken almost assumed that Yamato had finished talking if it weren't for the stricken glance that those blue eyes aimed at him every few seconds. So, he rested his hands on the back of his sofa and waited until Yamato eventually rolled his neck and spoke.

"I just found out that my friend died yesterday."

Ken's eyes widened and he quickly circled the sofa towards Yamato. He wrapped his arm around Yamato's shoulder and led him back into his seat. He didn't really know what he was doing. He just heard the word "died" and took it as his cue to comfort his friend, even if Yamato didn't necessarily look like he needed comfort.

"Okay, sit here and calm down."

He sat down next to Yamato and put his hand on his knee. Yamato's blank stare returned and stayed aimed constantly at the inactive television screen while he spoke.

"I am calm. It hasn't sunk in yet. I bought the alcohol for when it _did_ sink in, but, as you can see, I haven't opened it yet. I've just been...kind of numb since I heard about it."

Ken could see that Yamato was frustrated with himself. His friend wore down at the skin around his nails with his teeth aggressively, and Ken remembered how bad he was at comforting people. It wasn't that he didn't know what to do. He just didn't have the confidence to execute the method in his mind. So, for a while, he just let his radiating body temperature provide a comforting presence to Yamato, who was happy to bite his fingers in silence with a blank mind. But, eventually, he thought it best to strike up some kind of conversation just to prove to his self that Yamato was still alive after being so silent and still for so long.

"How'd your interview go?"

Yamato dropped his hand from his mouth in surprise.

"Huh?"

"The interview you had at the hotel. How did it go?"

"Oh...that...it went pretty well I think, but they're looking for a really specific style of musician so I can't be sure if I got the gig or not. Oh, and the guy thought I was 'exotic' as opposed to funny-looking, which is a nice change of pace."

Yamato's laugh was low and soft; not at all sincere and he didn't try to make it sound sincere either. He just used it as a lazy way to punctuate the humour in his words and draw away from the overall depressive foundation. Ken took it as it was and just nodded his head when he couldn't think of a comment. Enough times he'd tried to convince Yamato that his ethnic traits were beautiful, but all effort was lost when his compliments could not compare in amount to insults from strangers. He didn't enjoy the company of this brooding Yamato. He noticed every time Yamato's eyes would dart to the bottle on the table, so eventually he grabbed the neck of it as though he truly hoped to choke the bottle and stood up.

"How about we switch that alcohol for some tea?"

Yamato rubbed at his eyes, awoken from some kind of trance once the bottle was moved from his sight, and stood up.

"Yeah, sure. If I haven't started drinking yet I probably won't at all."

"Why don't you sit down for a while? I'll go make the tea."

"Please, I've been sitting down for hours. I'm grieving, not crippled."

They followed each other into the kitchen and leaned against the countertop while they waited for the water to boil. Ken put the bottle into the usual cupboard for alcohol while Yamato set about preparing a more sobering type of drink. Mugs and tea bags were set aside and they stood staring at the floor with the sound of bubbling water softening the silence. Ken looked up when he heard the click of the kettle.

"So, who was this person?"

He asked while he poured the water into the mugs. Yamato watched as the water filtered through the teabags and changed the colour to an earthy green. It didn't look attractive within the sunshine yellow mug, but the steam moistened his face when he leant over it and the warm smell of dandelion drew him to pick up the mug and take the smallest of sips.

"He's just an older guy that imparted some of his wisdom onto me. He's the one that you answered the phone to. The Japanese guy."

He mumbled against the scalding liquid that washed against his lips like the sea against the edge of a boat.

"Yeah, I remember that. Is there a service?"

"Yeah...in Tokyo after Christmas sometime. There's no set date yet. I need to think about whether I'm going to go or not."

"Why?"

Yamato almost answered, but he stopped himself. If he started talking about it then Ken would be stuck having to listen for about half an hour. It wasn't worth it. Besides, the reasons that he had weren't good reasons. They were selfish, unfair and irrational in some cases. They made him think that he was a bad person. Who else would abandon all the people that love him and avoid them even when the perfect opportunity to reunite presented itself?

He shook his head and took a gulp from his mug now that the tea had cooled down a bit.

"There are lots of reasons."

He mumbled, and wrapped an arm around his midsection. A swarm of dark thoughts had returned to him at the thought of returning to Japan. Of course he missed his home, but he mainly missed the old life that he'd had, where he had an attentive lover, a carefree little brother, and nothing to worry about but getting good grades and fitting in time for his music. That old life was dead and could never be reborn. It made him want all the more to forget where he'd come from and just pretend that he was born alone into the world.

Ken didn't pry, and both of them were satisfied with that. He knew nothing of the complicated life Yamato had lead before they'd met. He only knew of the exotic stranger that blew into his life and made it a little less lonely.

The next exchange between them was wishings of a good night's sleep before they both retreated to their rooms. Ken had forgotten about the foil wrapped leftovers that Yamato had prepared for him. There was more than enough considering Yamato hadn't eaten that night.

* * *

He had to remind himself that the ceiling wasn't really moving. It was just a hallucination. But the way he saw the concrete bulge out like mice under a rug stopped him from closing his eyes let alone sleep. Taichi was certain he hadn't taken any drugs. There had definitely been a lot of drinking in on his part, but nothing that would make him see things like this. Maybe that cigarette that was offered to him was laced with something, or maybe while he was kissing that girl on his lap someone had dropped something in his drink.

He didn't have to look at the clock again to know that he'd been lying on his bed for about two hours, trying to get to sleep. He could feel his eyelids twitch whenever he tried to close them, and getting comfortable was impossible when he discovered a new itch on his body every few seconds. He'd tossed and turned enough to throw the covers onto the floor and tangle himself in the bed sheets.

The feeling of slowly decomposing as time passed was experienced throughout his whole body. He thought that he could feel the deterioration of his leg and arm muscles, and his mouth and eyes slowly dried up. He smacked his lips in attempt to gather some saliva and felt his rough, dry tongue scratch against the equally dry roof of his mouth. When he coughed he felt like he might hack up dust. Even when he breathed in he imagined that he might hear a creaking sound from the dry efforts of his throat.

Bumping his hand, head and hip against the bedside table, Taichi weakly rolled off of the bed, taking a moment to collect his strength while he rested his head against the carpet. He was sensitive to every sound, including the rustling of the carpet as he desperately dug his fingers into its threads. Eventually, after reaching his limit of dust inhalation, he grabbed the table that had previously offended him and used it to help him stand. The prospect of a cold glass, or gallon, of water motivated him towards the door. But, in his hurry, he was unprepared for the rush of light that pushed him back into his dark room once he'd opened the bedroom door. He shielded his stinging eyes in a remarkable impression of Dracula and swung back, using the door handle for stability and pulling the door along with him.

He recovered eventually, and decided against fetching his sunglasses to shield his eyes simply because he was too disoriented to successfully locate them. He cupped his hand just above his brow to escape from the bright living room light on his way to the kitchen. For the first time he thought that he understood what it must feel like to walk on water because he was currently experiencing something similar. Drunk or high, whatever the reason, it felt like there was a moving tide beneath his naked feed that was compelling him to walk slightly sideways. He kept his eyes on the floor successfully shielding them from the light and finding balance in reassuring himself that the floor wasn't moving. But, when he tripped over the edge of the sofa he realised that it was a surprisingly important factor in travelling to be able to see where he was going. He lifted his head in the assumed direction of the kitchen, and froze to grab hold of the sofa that was still in arm's reach. If he hadn't he probably would have fallen through the liquid feeling floor in shock or fear or...general disbelief in what he was looking at.

He'd thought he'd already thrown up pretty much everything in his stomach earlier, but once Taichi brought his gaze to the open door of his kitchen he knew he still had something left in his stomach because it was already crawling its way back up his throat. When he first looked at it, it was just a gradated blur of blue, white and yellow that reminded him of a badly formed blob of jelly. But with each second and every shift of his eyes it swirled like a vortex and more colours appeared and details began to form. Human features emerged from the vague smudge in his vision.

"Oh, Tai, you're awake."

Taichi swallowed the vomit and blinked, watching the vision before him waver. He was obviously having a trip. There was no way...

It wore a blue apron and had blond hair clipped up randomly away from its face. Upon its pale, glowing skin were flecks of brown that came from the large chocolate cake on the counter in front it that was presumably freshly made. It looked glossy and sweet and from the many times that he'd tasted similar creations Taichi knew that it would taste just as amazing as it looked.

The smile on the face of the creature before him was foreign. It looked...blank...like it was drawn on. There were no smile lines surrounding the peachy lips and the eyes were wide and untouched by the expression of joy from the mouth. It was the smile of a doll.

"What are you just standing there for? I made cake."

Taichi knew that he was having some kind of drug induced hallucination. With every passing second he picked up on something that wasn't right that proved to him that this design standing before him did not belong in reality. The entity before him would glitch and waver like a failing computer screen and there were little details about this person that didn't coincide with Taichi's memories. But, he still smiled when the illusion held out a hand to him.

"What kind of cake?"

He whispered through his dry throat and delicately placed his hand in the pale one. Though he imagined that he could feel the calluses and warm skin of the hand that he held, the limb offered no support to him when he stumbled over his lazy feet. The mirage laughed melodically and a piece of shining hair fell down from the collection of clips to hang over empty blue eyes.

"Chocolate cake as usual. Nothing else seems to satisfy your sweet tooth."

The blue eyes swirled tauntingly and the colours of the figure began to merge together and crackle like static. Looking at it made Taichi feel ill. Everything was moving and changing in his world and this...thing in front of him did not help to anchor him to reality. Taichi ignored the appetising cake to approach the sink after a wave of dizziness struck him. The white wall in front of him looked like a moving bed sheet, with bodies rolling around beneath it. He didn't stare at the disturbing morphing of the scenery for too long and thrust his head under the tap, turning the cold water on at full blast. He soaked his face and hair and took huge gulps of the heavenly shower of water. It did nothing for his giddiness or the coiling feeling of his stomach, but it cooled him and at least settled the feeling of wanting to vomit.

He left the tap on and turned back around, pulling the hair from his face. The figure wasn't where it had been standing anymore, and for a moment Taichi had thought that the devil had spared him his torment.

"You feeling alright?"

During a single twitch of his eyes the being reappeared and the chocolate cake was on the opposite side of the counter. Taichi looked up at the picture. The blonde hair was a different style now; gelled up like it used to be when they were younger. And the eyes were a darker and deeper shade of blue. The smile twitched on the pale face.

"Y-Yeah...I'm just dizzy."

A laugh came from the item before him, and Taichi heard it echo in his mind. There was something that didn't sound right about it. Perhaps it was just that bit too high pitched, or too abrupt in the way that it ended. It was frustrating in that it was so close to sounding beautiful but was sharply cut too short, teasing Taichi's senses.

Without any transition between events a slice of cake was cut and held out towards him.

"Here. Taste this."

Taichi looked down at the fingers holding the delectable dessert. He didn't care about the creamy icing that melted against the soft fingers or the moist, spongy cake that crumbled over the palm. All Taichi could see were those fingers. He was used to the sight and sensation of hands that were fair, slender, graceful with alternating textures of rough and soft. These hands that offered him food were wrong and unnatural. They were pale to the point of looking deathly white. Instead of slender and elegant in their shape they were bony and sunken around the knuckles. The fingers were too long and continued to stretch out towards him. As for texture there was no way for him to discover the differences because when he dismissed all abnormalities and reached out to accept the offering he felt nothing. He watched as his hands made contact and he could see that he was able to affect this object when he was able to pull the offered hands towards him. And yet, despite his mind fooling all other senses, his sense of touch was firm in believing that there was no existing object before him to make contact with.

He played along with the games of his mind anyway, rather enjoying playing pretend. He took a bite from the image of a piece of cake before him. The illusion smiled another empty smile.

"Is it good?"

The cake had no flavour or physical structure. He'd taken a bite of air. But, Taichi still smiled and leaned towards the vision.

"The second best thing I've ever tasted."

He laughed with a saddened tone that the object did not pick up on. But it flicked its head to the side, swinging its hair that now seemed yellow instead of gold.

"Second best? But this is your favourite."

Taichi leant back against the sink when he felt himself sway. The object followed with him to keep the same distance between its chest and Taichi's. Although, it stood suddenly shorter than it had a while ago. Taichi longed to reach out and feel a warm body. But, to keep his hallucination, he knew that that was something he couldn't do. He steadied his hands on the sink behind them to stop them from moving of their own volition. Then, he looked down into the eyes below him and spoke at a volume too low for even his own ears to pick up on.

"_You're_ my favourite."

A ghostly laugh hovered over Taichi.

"I'd say your favourite is _cheese_cake."

It chuckled and leaned forward to place a spectral kiss on Taichi's cheek. Taichi couldn't feel it, and it killed him unknowingly. He turned away and put a hand on his cheek where there should have been a kiss.

"How about you lie down on the sofa and I'll bring a big piece to you? You look tired."

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm...I'm tired."

Taichi lowered his eyes to the floor and desperately tried not to look up. He kept his hands on whatever surface he could as he made his way to the sofa and found that his steps were sturdier now that he was sobering up. He waddled around the wreckage that was his apartment and made sure not to look back into the kitchen lest there still be the mirage where he'd left it. If he intended to sleep he knew he had to sober up from...whatever the cause of this trip was, and he knew that in order to do that he had to make himself aware that he was hallucinating.

He fell down onto the sofa when his legs gave out halfway in slowly lowering him and looked up at the ceiling. It was still moving, just like it had done in his bedroom, only now the colours from the multitudes of stains were mixing around like running paints and dripping onto him. He couldn't feel any of it even though he could see it. He tried desperately to ignore it all and concentrate on reality. With his eyes closed he focused on the feel of the sofa, the sensation of air entering and escaping his lungs, and the sounds of the electrics in the apartment. So long as he didn't acknowledge any of the strange visions he could try and sleep.

"I love you, Taichi."

Taichi's eyes snapped open and he lurched upright as though he intended to be sick. He could see it from the corner of his eye; the shadow of the devil that stood in the doorway. It had blonde hair, blue eyes and stood gloriously glowing as though it represented the reincarnated Venus. On the other hand its expression was not serene or loving, but in pain. The blue of its eyes were jaded and moist. Intense pain twisted within Taichi with the command that he answer to the distress of the spirit, and he desperately wanted to. He longed to place a kiss on those eyes, profess his love with a relentless embrace and relinquish the burden of loneliness to this being.

Instead he grabbed the cushion on the floor and held it over his head to lie back down. He pressed it tighter to his ears for fear that the voice could reach him through the several layers of fabric but found himself at a loss to be reminded that the voice was in his head.

"I love you, Taichi."

* * *

Yamato smiled at his overflowing tip jar and the empty space on the bar counter where he had placed a stack of his fliers at the start of the evening. Hopefully that meant he'd be getting a good amount of business soon, and another step closer to renting a proper stage and putting on a hell of a show. He could start playing more of his own songs when he knew that he was playing for fans who might appreciate some of his own material.

He stepped off of the raised platform that represented some kind of stage. One of the remaining servers at the lounge offered him a wave as she walked past the stage towards the exit.

"Have a good night."

Yamato slid his guitar into its case and looked over his shoulder with a smile to her.

"Thanks you, too."

He clasped it shut and swung the case over his shoulder with his helmet in the other hand. He left the building with a wave to the bartender and last few customers.

Out on the road he found himself in an unusual silence. He could hear the revving of his bike through his helmet and he could hear the rushing of cars as he overtook them, but there was a foreign sense of isolation that he didn't usually have while riding his bike. It could have been because he'd spent the last few hours in a busy atmosphere with continuous conversation surrounding him, or it could have been because his mind wasn't distracted while there were fewer cars on the road to worry about. Whatever the reason, he found himself with time to think.

As he turned onto the main road he thought about what he might cook for dinner. When he got to the traffic lights he thought about the money he'd saved up for his next big set. When he rounded the corner onto a straight road he thought about the phone call he'd received not too long ago. And, soon after, Watanabe came to mind or, more specifically, his death. The bright but weathered face of his important friend came to his mind, printed within the lines on the road and reflected in the flashing of the street lights against the shop windows. Though it had been such a long time since he'd seen him, Watanabe had been a constant presence in his life since they'd met. Yamato had sent him fliers for his concerts and short notes of appreciation, and in return he'd get a phone call every month or so congratulating him on his success. Nothing felt more rewarding than Watanabe's soft voice telling him through the phone 'I'm so proud of you'. It was what helped him to fight on when he first started off in America. He'd had to deal with hecklers at dodgy bars, spend hours putting up fliers around town, live in a crappy one room apartment with a busted down door, and the whole way he'd felt Watanabe's support pushing him forward. Without his family or friends in his life, Watanabe became the lone hand that lifted him up when the world knocked him over.

And it finally kicked in; the realisation that this vital person in his life was gone. He'd never get one of those phone calls again. He'd never hear those words from that person again. He felt a sting in his eyes that he tried to ignore.

Fifty feet ahead of the cyclist, a man got out of a cab and passed his money to the driver through the window. The driver took it without a word and shuffled through his change with a sigh. The sound of a motor bike was barely detectable in the distance. He passed his customer the change distantly, thinking about the end of his shift, and pulled away from the curb just as soon as the man retracted his hand to a safe distance. He could hear the screech of his own tires but didn't hear the screech of another's. Swerving across two lanes he barely felt the nick of a wheel on his bumper, or the sound of metal scraping on gravel beneath the music on his radio. He pressed his foot down on the pedal enough to feel the floor and turned on his speaker to hear for the next pick up. In the rear mirror that the driver didn't look at, there was the reflection of a man lying on the road, and an upturned bike lying a few feet away.

Through the crack in his helmet screen Yamato watched the distorted yellow blur of the cab shrink into the distance. He had yet to take a breath after the wind had been knocked out of him. His mind was a complete blank and his body completely numb...for about ten seconds. After that he clenched his eyes clenched shut tight enough to tear the lids and gasped like a choked man.

"Chikuso![3] Ugh..."

He shakily rolled onto is back and desperately pawed at his helmet as though it were a lion's jaws clamped over his head. Every panicking breath was raw, warm and unsatisfying. When he was finally free of his helmet he dropped his head onto the road harder than he intended to, feeling the grooves of the stone dig into the back of his head, and took in big gulps of cold air. His leathers felt like they were cutting off circulation to his limbs, and he couldn't distinguish whether the sensation in his sides was pain or just incredible heat. He watched the bouncing of his own chest as he took harsh breaths. The combination of shock and fear had stolen most of the air from his lungs before he'd even hit the ground.

Over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, Yamato could hear voices, halting cars and the impact of feet on gravel. He opened his eyes just barely to see a stranger's face looming over him. More joined soon, all with shocked expressions, all speaking at the same time and way too quickly for Yamato to fully comprehend what was being said.

"Hey, are you alright? Jesus!"

"Someone stop those cars!"

"What happened?"

"That cab just pulled out in front!"

"Oh, God! Is he okay?"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

His patience wore out quickly listening to all the indistinguishable chatter. No one was really doing anything except crowding around him as ants would around a crumb. Yamato threw his helmet through a gap in the force field of people surrounding him and lifted his head. He pressed his gloved hands against the road and felt them tremble as he tried to push himself up. Over the several voices he could hear one ring out that little bit louder than the others. A man knelt down next to him and gently put a hand on his chest.

"Sir, don't move. You could have a head injury."

Yamato barely had the energy to shake his head in disagreement.

"I'm fine. Just help me up."

The hand pushed firmer down on his chest when he tried to knock it away. He looked dazedly up into the man's calm face.

"Stay down."

A new pain burst in Yamato's chest. Everything going on around him was feeling strangely familiar. The faces above him changed, the gravel beneath him smoothed out and the lights around him dimmed. He felt as though he were somewhere else; somewhere out of reality.

Yamato found himself complying with the man's orders without even thinking about it. He fell back slowly onto his elbows, feeling relief the more he allowed himself to relax. The hand on his chest moved to the back of his head to cushion it when he allowed himself to completely lie down.

"An ambulance is on its way. Just...keep still until someone can check you over. Has anyone got something we could use to elevate his head?"

"Take my coat."

The man above him forced Yamato into helplessness by not even allowing him to lift his head to place the folded coat beneath it. He made a strict hand motion when Yamato tried to lean forward on his own, and instead picked Yamato up by the back of the neck to place the coat as a pillow beneath him. With his neck at a raised angle he could now really feel the aches and damaged tissue where it had knocked against his helmet and the floor. He closed his eyes.

"Now stay still. Are you in any pain?"

Alternating with the sound of his pulse and underlying the many voices that surrounded him Yamato could hear the faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance. He was so distracted by the multitude of overbearing noises he could hardly understand that one of those voices was directed at him. He could barely hear his own mumbled words when he spoke. Questions where rushed and he struggled to realise which ones he should be answering.

"Just a bit."

"Did anyone catch that cab's number?"

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No."

"Do you want me to get him some water?"

"Someone should move that bike."

"Can you see any blood?"

"What's your name?"

"Ishida Yamato."

In his daze he'd said his name in its Japanese form. From then on the man called him Ishida without realising that it was his surname, and it brought back a painful nostalgia. The whole situation did.

Paramedics and police arrived soon after and the chattering onlookers quietened once they were ushered away behind the police barrier. Witness statements were taken while the green suited paramedics asked him questions and carefully unzipped his leathers to check him for any damage. In order for the police to start clearing the area and redirecting traffic Yamato was ushered into the back of the parked ambulance for final treatment. He shouted his thanks to the stranger that had taken charge of the situation, and before he could climb into the ambulance he saw his damaged bike being pulled from the road and his guitar case that had a severe dent. No doubt the instrument inside was probably damaged as well.

He answered more questions from the paramedic and let the stranger's hands pull his head this way and that to check for damage and treat what wounds were obvious on him. He also gave a hectic report of the incident to the policeman that sat in the ambulance with them and, soon enough, the policeman left and the paramedic stepped back in relief.

"You're alright. No concussion. I don't think a trip to the hospital is going to be necessary. Do you have someone to take you home?"

Yamato folded his bandaged wrist into the emergency blanket that was draped over his shoulders. There was a waver in his voice when he spoke. The painkillers that they'd given him were making him sleepy and heavy. He could feel bits of gravel in his clothes. A scalding shower and a long, drug induced sleep were the only things on his mind while he leant against the wall of the ambulance.

"Yeah, but I was thinking of just getting a cab."

He mumbled and wiped a strand of sweaty hair out of his face.

"I don't think that's a good idea. You do still have a head injury, and it'd be better if you had someone to keep an eye on you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Use the phone here."

The paramedic pulled out the emergency phone and handed it to Yamato who took it in his uninjured hand.

"Thanks."

He struggled to dial with a hand that he wasn't used to and struggled just as much to put the phone to his ear while his arms were weak and his neck hurt every time he moved it slightly.

"Ken Ichijouji."

"Hey, Ken. It's Yamato."

"What's up? I'm kind of in the middle of work."

"Yeah I know. Sorry for bothering you. What time do you clock off?"

"Whenever, really. I'm just trying to get as much done as I can. Why? Need something?"

"Yeah, a lift home would be good if you could leave a bit early. I got into a bit of an accident."

"What happened?"

"A cab threw me off my bike."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, the paramedics have patched me up and everyth-"

"Paramedics? I'm leaving the office now! Where are you?"

Yamato felt a bit guilty when the worry in Ken's voice made him smile.

* * *

A police officer had handed Yamato what was left of his wrecked belongings not too long ago. Next to him on the ambulance bench was his helmet which had a crack across the thick lens; proof that it really was the cushioned barrier that held him back from death. At his feet were his dented guitar case, which he was too frightened to open, and his cotton bag that had seemed to keep in pretty good condition despite being thrown ten feet across the road from the wreckage. Inside, his phone was dented but working and his music papers weren't any more crumpled or torn than they had been before, although both those papers and his lyric book were partially stained with blue ink that had bled from a snapped pen. All in all there was definite damage, but not enough to really upset him. The whole incident seemed a bit pathetic now that the worst was over. He didn't even sustain any serious injuries, but when he was lying on the road for those few short seconds before the pain hit him he'd thought that he'd died. It was just a bit embarrassing to have people kick up such a fuss about his crash when he probably would have been able to get back up and continue the journey home without too much trouble. A few scraped up belongings and a bump on the head shouldn't be enough to have traffic diverted.

The paramedic had left the ambulance once he'd realised that Yamato wasn't in a state to conduct any kind of social interaction. The blonde sat in silence at the edge of this seat, waiting for Ken's arrival, with a plastic card in his hand. He'd found it while he was inspecting his wallet for any damage.

It was his Japanese driver's licence. He had a new American licence specifically for his bike, so he hadn't bothered to find his old one until he was checking over each of the cards in his wallet for cracks. He'd been turning it over in his hand for a long time. Onlookers simply thought that his fascination with the object was a result of the painkillers. They didn't know what turmoil the man was suffering through in his silence.

At the sound of a familiar voice talking to the officer at the barriers Yamato looked up. Ken was being led under the florescent tape and escorted towards the ambulance where Yamato was sat. Seeing the newcomer, one of the paramedics approached Yamato to help him to stand and step onto the floor.

Ken's expression as he approached Yamato didn't seem nearly concerned as his voice had over the phone. In fact he looked almost like a mother storming towards a child that deserved to be scolded. Yamato sheepishly smirked and offered a pathetic wave.

"Hey, Ken."

The other man didn't return the greeting. Instead he folded his arms at the end of his journey towards the ambulance and straight away turned to address the paramedic.

"Any serious injuries?"

"Nope, he was damn lucky. There's some soft tissue damage in his neck, a bruised head, some cuts and scrapes scattered around and a minor sprain in his wrist, but other than that he's mainly just got some bruising and muscle strain around his sides and shoulders. Everything will heal fine with some bed rest and ice."

Ken shook his head in an exhausted fashion at the list he was given and raised his brow at Yamato.

"You and that stupid bike."

Yamato laughed through his nose and shrugged his shoulders with a tired but genuine smile that pulled Ken from his distress. He nearly let his mouth drop open in surprise. Ever since Yamato had received that call from Japan he had hardly smiled in at least a week. And now, after a near death experience, he was giggling like he'd just fallen off the swing instead of off his motorbike. Ken remembered to pay attention to what the paramedic was telling him and luckily managed to catch the important information.

"-advise that he go for a hospital check up in a few days just in case we missed anything. But he should be fine. Just keep an eye on him for his head injury."

"Thank you."

Ken nodded to the paramedic and circled around Yamato's belongings to pick them up. An inevitable fight was put up by Yamato who tried to snatch the dented guitar case before it could be picked up. But, one firm look from Ken made him back off. He was left with only his cracked helmet to carry to the car. He had just enough time to thank the paramedic before Ken took a hold of his sleeve with his free hand and began pulling him away, like a mother would do to a straying toddler.

"Do you need any painkillers?"

Ken asked and nodded to the policeman who pulled aside the tape to let them through. Yamato swung his helmet by its strap.

"I just need to get something for the bruising. Some Ibuprofen and a few of those heat packs will probably do the trick."

"We can get that on the way back. There should be somewhere still open."

Yamato's belongings were placed with futile delicacy into the boot of the car. Ken even unexpectedly opened the door for him, and when Yamato climbed in he felt his body completely sink into the leatherette seat. He sighed and lowered his head slowly against the headrest, feeling the cuts on his scalp protest the weight of his head. He didn't hear the slam of the car door, or notice when Ken got into the driver's seat. Before starting the car Ken silently rested his head against the steering wheel and Yamato gathered his energy to look at him. Ken's eyes were loosely closed and there was a strained expression on his face.

"You scared the living-...I had a heart attack! You and that stupid bike!"

"It wasn't the bike's fault. If I'd been in a car the same thing would have happened. It was just a stupid cabby that didn't bother to look in his mirrors."

Ken threw his head back off the steering wheel.

"Well if you were in a car you wouldn't have been as badly injured, if injured at all."

"In a car I wouldn't have been able to avoid hitting the cab straight on."

Silent seething occurred between the two over the disagreement. Keeping their eyes locked Ken turned the key in the ignition and brought the car to life. The vibrations of the car travelled all the way through Yamato's body like a shiver and forced him to break eye contact with Ken. Ken shook his head and turned his eyes to the road. He pulled out from the curb and unconsciously found himself repeatedly checking his rear mirror, not wanting to make the same mistake that the cab driver did.

He took the longer route back to their apartment and kept his eyes attentive for an open drug store. For a while he was content to drive in silence while Yamato rested in the seat next to him. But quickly his frustration at Yamato wore of, and his concern was unearthed. He wanted to be reassured that Yamato was alive. He desperately searched for something to say.

"What...What was it like?"

Yamato continued to keep his eyes closed and body relaxed. He smoothly exhaled with a small groan and tilted his head to the side towards Ken.

"Sudden."

"I'm guessing that means that you don't want to talk about it."

Yamato opened his eyes.

"It was just...it's too soon. I'm still a little shaken."

"I understand. I suppose it was a little insensitive of me to ask so soon after it happened."

Yamato felt a bit guilty for being so dismissive when Ken fell silent. He didn't mean to make him upset. But, although the crash wasn't particularly serious he didn't want to think back on the experience so soon after it had happened. He decided to try and distract both of them from the memory of his accident and simply spoke the first thing that came to mind.

"Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I've decided to go to Japan."

Yamato felt heat rise to his cheeks when Ken looked at him with a small, teasing smile.

"You _think_ you've decided?"

"Yeah...I mean...no, I've completely decided. I'm going to do it."

Ken laughed at the sweet uncertainty of Yamato.

"You must've hit your head pretty hard."

"I've had worse. I just needed a decent hit to the head to get me thinking clearly again."

"Is it going to be okay for you to leave all of a sudden? You haven't heard back from that job yet."

"They have my number, and I'll be back in time for the job if I get it. Besides I can't really go straight back to work right now. My guitar is wrecked and my wrist is injured. It'll cost more to hire a musician than it will to just take a few weeks off work."

"Listen, you've just come out of an accident. How about you rest up and think about this a bit more tomorrow when your head is clear?"

"You think I'm delirious?"

"No, I just think that this traumatic experience might be having an effect on your judgement. You don't want to run off and regret this decision later on, right?"

A lazy wave of Yamato's head constituted as some kind of nod in his exhausted state and he smiled brightly at Ken who took the opportunity at a set of traffic lights to look at him.

"Why have you got to be so sensible? You make me feel like a kid sometimes."

Ken had a strange expression on his face that made Yamato stop smiling and sit straight.

"What's wrong?"

"You have blood in your teeth."

"Huh?"

Ken didn't repeat himself. He knew Yamato had heard him the first time. Yamato hesitantly ran his tongue over his teeth. The metallic taste was certainly there, he just hadn't noticed it before. When he reached his back few teeth he felt a tug and an arrow of pain shot through his jaw and down into his neck. He grabbed his mouth and lurched forward.

"Ah, fuck. I think I cracked my back tooth."

"Hold on, there's a store here. Let me pull over and I'll take a look at it."

Yamato delicately attempted to feel his tooth through his cheek, feeling a bit of a shameful thrill when he inflicted the sharp pain onto himself again. Ken gently pulled up next to the one lit store left on the street and turned on the overhead light before turning off the engine. He urged Yamato to lean over the gear box.

"Tilt your head back. Let me see."

Ken held one hand under Yamato's chin and the other on his neck, encouraging him to open his mouth. Yamato kept his gaze on the ceiling to avoid making the situation any more awkward. Ken had reverted to his serious self; all business and focusing on finding the cracked tooth with the same dedication that he filed his paperwork. Ken delicately pressed his fingers into Yamato's head to tilt it to a better angle beneath the light.

"Yep, it's cracked. Right down the middle. You're going to need to either try pulling it out tonight or book a dentist appointment."

He gently closed Yamato's mouth for him and ran a final few fingers through the moist blond hair that hung over his face. Yamato licked his dried lips and moved back into his seat away from the warmth of Ken's hands. He palmed his cheek and tried to find a comfortable jaw position for his broken tooth. He was attentive to his jaw movements when he spoke.

"I'm not good with gore like that. I'll just get it taken out tomorrow. I don't know how I didn't notice it at first. It fucking stings like a bitch."

"Well your mouth doesn't hurt enough to stop your swearing, so I reckon it'll be fine to leave it for tonight. I'll just get your painkillers."

Smiling, Ken turned off the light and reached into the backseat for his bag. Yamato closed his eyes again and crossed his arms to get more comfortable.

"Thanks Ken. I'm sorry for having you run around after me like this. I really appreciate it."

"What did you expect me to do? Force you to walk home?"

Yamato smiled in his sleepy daze and carefully tucked his head into his shoulder. He listened as Ken opened the door and got out.

"I'll be five minutes."

"Mmmkay."

The door was shut and a wave of air hit Yamato's face. He nuzzled his cheek into the material over his shoulder and tucked his hands under his arms to retain some warmth. He fell asleep before Ken could get back.

* * *

Hikari twisted her phone in her hands and paced an oval in front of the closed apartment door. She wanted to try banging on the door again, but after the first half an hour of pounding her fists and shouting through the wood she knew that no one on the other side would answer to her. Instead she waited, wearing down her plastic soles and marking scratches into her phone with her ring.

"Kari!"

She nearly dropped her phone and spun on her toes to see two faces that relieved her of a lonely burden. She dashed forward and threw her arms around Takeru's neck, expelling her worry into his shoulder.

"Oh, thank Gods you came! He won't answer his phone. I've been knocking for an hour. It's been two weeks since I've heard anything!"

"Is he out maybe?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to risk it. What if..."

She didn't dare to go on at the thought that came to her. Takeru stroked her hair and held her waist while she shuddered against. Daisuke stood back and allowed the two to comfort each other.

"I'll go get the maintenance guy. He'll have a key. Just stay here and keep calling him."

He retreated back down the stairs to the Landlord's office while Takeru and Hikari remained in a tight embrace. When she gathered herself Hikari pulled out of his arms, but Takeru could see that she wasn't her usual, collected self. There was still a tightness in her neck that exposed the muscles that she held taut. He took a step to her and spoke soft.

"Kari, it's going to be okay."

"But what if it isn't? I wasn't there last time and now...and now...I don't want to-."

Takeru put a stop to her sentence with a light hand on her shoulder. She leant back into his chest and took a deep breath, exhaling the memory, the pain, and the overwhelming fear. Takeru placed his hand over hers that still clutched to her phone.

"Keep calling him."

After she nodded her head he kissed her still cheek and approached the apartment door. He pounded his fist against it with strength to make the door rattle in its hold. Hikari desperately held her phone to her ear and listened once again to the answer phone message.

"Taichi! Are you in there? It's Takeru! Taichi!"

He continued to bang on the door while Hikari redialled a different number. This continued for a good ten minutes. Takeru would shout and kick at the door while Hikari called every number she could think of that might lead to Taichi. When Daisuke arrived with the Landlord both stopped what they were doing to approach them. The large man reached for his keys and turned to Hikari.

"What's going on?"

"Taichi's not answering the door or his phone. No one's been able to reach him for a while and we just want to get inside to see if he's okay."

"At least you didn't break the door down like last time."

He purposely rolled his eyes towards Daisuke who stood behind him. Daisuke bashfully scratched the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. The Landlord unclipped the ring of keys from his belt and nudged Takeru away from the door.

"Stand aside."

Poising the keys over the lock he tapped on the door and leaned in.

"Yagami-San, if you're in there, I'm unlocking the door."

Hikari brightened with hope when she heard rustling from the other side of the door. The landlord took his time unlocking the door and opening it. As soon as he stepped aside to let them in Hikari rushed to the living room with a shout.

"Taichi? Taichi! Are you here?"

She stepped back in surprise once she reached the entrance, as though there was a closed door in her way. Takeru and Daisuke didn't see why until they were right next to her. A half naked woman was rushing to clothe herself before them. A dark waterfall of smeared eye makeup was patched down her face and she wobbled like a fresh baby deer on her stick like legs. Spotting them at the door she simply grabbed the rest of her things and splayed them over her torso while she carried them to cover herself up. She pushed past them with a muttered apology, and all stared at her until she'd turned to dash down the hallway to exit the complex. They all exchanged strange expressions before further entering into the apartment. Hikari called out again.

"Are you here, Taichi?"

In reply she heard several thuds coming from the bedroom. After seeing the state of the woman she stepped aside to allow one of the present males to go and investigate the noise. Daisuke was the one to step in front. He didn't bother to knock and swung open the already opened door. The bedroom was in pitch black. The blinds were closed and the curtains were drawn over them. All that could be deciphered in the darkness was a bulk beneath the covers. Daisuke slammed his hand against the light switch next to him and a flickering light revealed what should have been a bedroom. It looked more like the aftermath of a tornado in the state that it was in. Dirty clothes hung over nearly every surface, empty bottles and cans were gathered in small islands across the patchy carpet and still smoking cigarettes were overflowing from several ashtrays and mugs. The bulk amongst the bed sheets rolled over, and a tanned arm became exposed.

"What the fuck?"

Daisuke grabbed an empty can from the desk next to him and threw it at Taichi.

"You asshole, you've been here the whole time?"

Taichi sat up in the bed. He was almost as much of a mess as his room. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and pushed the cover away from his naked chest, leaving several boldly red love bites to greet the cold air of his bedroom.

"Yeah, I've been sleeping. How did you get in?"

"We got the key from the landlord. What the fuck is wrong with you? Kari was worried sick! She's been calling and banging on the door for an hour at least. Not to mention all of the other times she tried to get in touch with you in the past week."

Taichi sighed and fell back onto the bed.

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't hear. But you can now see that I'm alive, and very tired. So please turn off the light on your way out."

Daisuke ignored him and kicked every pile of cans in his way until he reached the bed. Taichi winced at the cold when his covers were ripped off of him.

"We're not going to just leave you, Taichi. Like it or not, we're staying in your life."

"Whatever. At least leave me alone to sleep."

Taichi hid his face under his pillow and Daisuke gave up on his desire to punish him. He headed back to the living room where the others were waiting and said before closing the door.

"If you don't answer your phone tomorrow you're going to find yourself with three more room mates."

He slammed the door shut, leaving the light on to especially annoy Taichi. It didn't work though. After the tumbler of whiskey he'd had not too long ago he barely even realised that light was still on as he fell back to sleep.

* * *

The tapping was persistent. Ken looked over his book for a third time. Yamato had been on that damn laptop for a good half hour, tapping away at the keys, looking at hotel lists in Tokyo and just generally distracting Ken from enjoying his book. Even Butter who was attempting to nap against Yamato's hip was having trouble getting settled with the annoying noise in the background. Every minute or so she would squirm in the small space she occupied and ran her claws over Yamato's jeans as if to tell him to be quiet. Ken bit his gum and closed the book onto his lap. Yamato hadn't even noticed that he was being stared at.

"You're seriously doing this, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"But...your head should be better by now. I thought you would have come to your senses."

"I've been taking painkillers, not crack. I know what I'm doing."

"No, I'm not trying to undermine your decision or anything. It's just that...you've always shown a sense of reluctance to return home and I didn't think that it would just disappear all of a sudden."

Yamato sighed and stilled his hands over the laptop keyboard. He looked at the lit screen in front of him, but he didn't see it. He was too busy stomping down the nerves that had reacted enthusiastically to Ken's words.

"I know, but I promised I'd go; to myself and to Ms Watanabe, I've booked my flight, I've found my passport. All that's left to do is book is the hotel. I was going to have to go back sooner or later."

It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Ken. To punctuate his point he dropped his thumb onto the return key, confirming his booking for a room in a Tokyo hotel. Once the screen flashed with the words 'Your booking has been confirmed' he closed his laptop and settled back into the seat. There was no turning back any more. He had a week left to panic, but for now he wanted to savour his free time with Ken. Weekends like this were great, where they could just sit in each other's company with a bit of background noise from the television.

Yamato leant back into the sofa and took a victory sip from his beer can. With Yamato no longer distracted, Ken no longer found any interest in finishing his book and so threw it onto the coffee table, not caring to mark his page.

"So, are you coming back for New year?"

"I should be. If there are no complications then I'll be on my way back on the 29th. But, I bought a flexible ticket just in case. I seem to attract so much drama I might as well be prepared."

"So, are you going to visit your family while you're there? You have a little brother, right?"

Yamato hissed through his teeth and took another sip of beer before putting the can back on its coaster. He knew that this time would come eventually. He hadn't told Ken anything about his past other than the basics. He told him that he'd come from Japan and that he had a family. But he had always managed to stray from the subject of why he was in America, or why he hadn't cared to visit his home. At least now was a better time than ever to talk about the problems he'd had. It might be good to have a bit of support from a friend who knew what had been going on.

He shook his head to disorient the sources of the voices in his head that tried to make him doubt himself.

"I don't think so. I left on bad terms with them. I don't imagine I'd be given a particularly warm welcome if I just showed up for a visit."

"Did you fight with them or something?"

"I kind of ran away."

"A-As in-"

"As in I decided to leave about an hour before I actually left and didn't tell anyone about it. I just packed what I could and got the hell out of there."

Ken bit his lip and his whole body tensed up. He hadn't known. It hurt to think that he hadn't known. He and Yamato had known each other for three years now and yet it was only when a problem arose that Yamato felt able to tell him. His thought process continued on with such painful realisations. He'd been blankly staring into Yamato's calm expression for a few silent seconds before he could only say,

"I'm sorry."

Yamato smiled. Not bitterly or sarcastically for a nice change. He hadn't even done it on purpose. It was nothing but a soft curve of his lips, light enough to reveal only the tips of his teeth. It caught Ken off guard completely, just like the smile after the accident. It was such an honest gesture that it brightened his whole face.

"You shouldn't be sorry. I still stick by it being a good decision and I'm glad I came here. Of course, if I could change anything I would have waited until I was sober to go through with it. I woke up very confused the next day."

The light humour made Ken's shoulders release from their tensed, locked position and they were free to move as he chuckled.

"I can imagine. I don't think I would be as calm as you."

"No, but you'd be smart enough not to do it in the first place."

They laughed lightly in unison, Ken unconsciously leaning over to be closer to Yamato. Butter wasn't disturbed by the new weight next to her and instead relished in the new source of warmth that seemed to complete her temporary bed. She nuzzled her head into Yamato's thigh and tucked her nose beneath her paw. The sofa now rumbled from not only the laughter of the two men but also the cat that purred while she rested.

Ken indulged himself with a sip from Yamato's beer can and found no protest from the other man. He hadn't really had any alcohol since his working hours increased and he found that to make the one sip of beer taste smoother and more refreshing than he remembered it to be. He took a second quick gulp before placing it back down and turning to Yamato. He had been smiling the whole time and took his own drink from the can once it had been placed back down, raising his brow and keeping his eyes open at Ken while he tipped his head back.

They sat in comforting quiet for a while after that. Ken didn't care to turn back to his book and Yamato wasn't in the mood to turn on the television. He wasn't intending on watching it anyway, so it would have just counted as obnoxious background noise. He chose to run his fingers down Butter's back and think only about the comfort of the sofa and the feel of her coarse fur.

"Are you sure you don't want me coming with you?"

Ken spoke up.

"If you keep asking me I might take you up on that offer."

"I don't mind. If you want me there then I'll go."

Yamato sighed at Ken's generosity. It was becoming an unfair temptation. Of course he would have loved his friend there to support him and stop him from drinking too much at the funeral. But he knew what it felt like to be surrounded by millions of voices that he didn't understand. Ken only knew a few words of Japanese even though he was a hypothetical sponge when it came to absorbing information, and Yamato had no intention of making his friend wait around awkwardly and have a translator to talk every word through.

"You can't just walk away from your job, and I don't want to drag you across so many hundreds of miles of ocean to a place where you don't know the language. I'll be fine. I'll call you every day if you want me to."

"Alright then."

He spoke in a disheartened tone and stroked a hand along his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ken. Do you really want to go? I just don't want you going to such an effort just for the sake of being sympathetic."

"No, no. It's not that. It's just that it's going to be a bit miserable around here without you, and after that bike scare I'll be worrying about you."

Ken's bashful smirk flourished to become a smile.

"Plus I'll have to start cooking for myself again. Since you've been spoiling me my skills are probably a little rusty. Ugh, and I'll have no excuse to avoid my family this Christmas."

"I'm sorry about Christmas. We can celebrate it when I get back. I'll cook you the whole thing and bring you a ton of souvenirs. I'll even make that gross eggy drink you like so much."

"It's called eggnog, and that'd be nice. I'll look forward to it."

Attention was drawn away from the subject just as the conversation ended when Butter found herself unsatisfied with her warm pocket between the two men and clambered onto Yamato's lap. Yamato wrapped his arm around her and gave her his finger to nibble and bat at.

"Are you going to be alright looking after Butter? I know she's a bit of a handful. I could leave her with someone else if it's going to be too much trouble."

"Don't worry about it. All I've got to do is fill her bowls and clean her box. Easiest job I've ever done."

"You know she's an attention whore too, right? She's going to be crawling all over you and sleeping on your face and sneaking up on you when you're in the bathroom."

"She'll keep me company."

Yamato cheekily turned himself to Ken and picked up Butter like a doll to take control of her little paws. Uncaring of her master's games she simply lay in his hold and allowed him to manipulate her body.

"So, are you going to admit that she's your cat, too?"

He asked in a sly tone and used Butter's paw to point at Ken who had folded his arms. Ken rolled his eyes and batted away the auburn limb directed at him.

"_You're_ the one that picked her out and bought everything for her."

"But _you_ help pay for her food."

"She sleeps with _you_."

"She snuggles up on the sofa with _you_."

"The pet licence is in _your_ name."

"And the address on her tag is _ours_. Just admit it. Look at her little face."

He rubbed his cheek against her fur covered one and slyly smiled at Ken who struggled to keep a straight face.

He reached his hand forward, seeming to have the intention of petting the young cat, but quickly moved his hand to destroy the structure of the blonde hair that Yamato had perfectly styled. Yamato spluttered over his disbelief and swatted the pale hand away, shielding his hair with his forearms when Ken reached around his block.

"Ah, you bastard! How could you?"

"Now, Yamato, there's no need for foul language."

Ken laughed and leaned back into his place in the sofa. Yamato desperately combed his fingers through his hair in order to straighten it out. The wax that he had used to style it now only served to make the new knots more difficult to untangle. He left it in the mess that it was and crossed his arms. He didn't realise when he'd dropped Butter, but as soon as his hands around her had relaxed she'd bounced off to escape the boisterous games of her roommates. She was in a lazy mood and so chose to escape to Yamato's bedroom to sleep in his bed while she had the chance.

Yamato and Ken continued to joke together late into the evening. There was after all only seven evenings left to spend time together while Ken still had work during the day, so they both sacrificed sleep to be sure not to waste any moment. Ken would go to work yawning the next day and blame it on Yamato who was free to sleep in, but he wouldn't regret any of those last few late nights they shared while they had the chance.

* * *

Seven days went by without struggle and swiftly. In the hours where night merged into morning the apartment was dark and almost silent. Yamato levelled out the straps on his rucksack. He knew that he definitely hadn't pack enough clothes but he didn't have any other bags to use. He just prayed to God that the hotel offered a laundry service since he didn't think to check online. If not then he was in store for another half naked trip to the Laundromat like he used to do.

He had one other bag balanced on his shoulder holding what needed to be easily accessed. It was half empty but still the weight threw off his balance and he ended up almost knocking over a lamp on his way to the door. He'd caught it just barely with his free hand and held still for a few seconds to check that he hadn't woken up Ken. No doors opened and no angry mumbles were heard, so he slid it carefully back onto the table and released a caged breath.

When it was balanced and sturdy he turned to look at the apartment for a final time. He kept thinking about how much he wanted to just drop his bags and stay here; pretend that anywhere else didn't exist. But there was something that tugged at him and forced him to turn away towards the door. It lifted his hand like a puppet's on a string to land on the door handle, and it gripped his chin to stop him looking back as he closed the door behind him. He was now officially on his way...home...if that was what he could still call it.

Standing in the dead hallway in thought he could hear a light scratching on the door behind him. He must've woken up Butter at some point during his exit. He hadn't hugged her goodbye and other than a brief embrace the night before he hadn't properly said goodbye to Ken either. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he kept putting it off in the hopes that he would have time and Ken being the bashful type would never take initiative when it came to sentimentality. He'd just have to remember to apologise over the phone when he arrived at his hotel and maybe bring back something for Butter to chew on.

There were two weeks left until Christmas and then only four days after that until he should be heading back. The only reason he'd decided to leave so early in December was because he didn't want to be in America when Christmas took full effect. In previous years he'd never been able to leave the apartment without some blaring reminder of how alone he was for the holiday. There were mothers taking their children to go Christmas shopping, restaurants booked to the pavement with giggling couples and boisterous families, Christmas songs jumping from radio to store radio about loved ones and Christmas spirit. It was a painful time that usually was only remedied by Ken's company and a bottle of whiskey on Christmas day. But this year he knew that he couldn't spend Christmas with Ken, so he decided to escape while he could to avoid the Christmas season at its worst. In Japan he could easily pretend that it was any old day in winter and live out the season in bed with room service to bring food right to him. It probably didn't sound as sad in his head as it would out loud.

He gave a final shift of the straps that were beginning to dig into his shoulders already and set his way towards the elevator instead of the stairs like usual. The last step to have officially left was gathering the will power to press the 'G' button and wait for the doors to close.

Inside the apartment that was now lacking one boarder, the cat that was scratching at the front door and whining softly was lifted up by a pale set of hands and tucked into the silk of a half buttoned pyjama shirt. Ken mimicked what Butter had been previously doing by flatly laying his palm on the wood of the door with a lonely sigh. It was the least he could do to stop himself from rushing out of the apartment to chase the missing piece of the home. He leant his cheek against the soft head that nuzzled his neck.

"Looks like it's just you and me for a while."

He quietly muttered. He delicately ran his hand down the rough surface in front of him until his fingers slid away to rest at his side. The place had been almost silent while Yamato was still there but now it had slipped from the brink that it had balanced on, leaving Ken and Butter in a void absent of all existence outside of each other. It would probably continue to be that way until Yamato returned. Ken knew that he could function without air for three minutes, but he did not want to test how long he could function without Yamato. Like air, Yamato was sorely missed after only being gone a minute.

* * *

_[1] this is supposed to be the American Willis, but I don't know his surname. Does he even have one? Tell me if anyone knows. I kind of gave him a Swiss surname because I was feeling that there wasn't enough ethnic diversity._

_[2] the song is 'Black Magic Woman' by Carlos Santana, one of my favourite guitarists ever_

_[3] General Japanese curses. You get the idea what he's trying to say._

* * *

_OH MY GOD! FINALLY DONE! Another chapter complete and it's about damn time!_

_I've had a very hectic few months, so I'm sorry for a late update. I got Scarlet Fever which put me out of commission for a few weeks, I got a waitressing job because being a broke student is not as fun as it's made out to be, I got a pretty solid social life, I joined an art society, I started a clothes making course...just...basically lots of interesting things going on that all prevented me from keeping up with my writing schedule. I also got distracted by another fiction that I've started. It touches on a lot of topics that are quite personal to me, so I found myself being more interested. I actually got the inspiration while I was doing research for this fic so there are some overlapping similarities. I've written about five chapters for it so far, so I'll probably keep working on it while I'm finishing up the next chapter for this fic. I can't wait to post it. I've got about 19,000 words in dialogue alone!_

_I was also stuck on this chapter for a long time simply because I couldn't decide what song Yamato should play. And then I proved that I am benefitting from a social life when I went to another gig-type-thing with some friends and heard a Santana cover. It was one of those music experiences where you actually feel like you're on some kind of high when you listen to the music. It was an amateur singer and I wish I could remember her damn name so I could promote her! But, alas, I'm practically going senile already._

_I hope you like this chapter. Although it might not be up to my usual standard of writing I think it turned out alright. Let me know what you think. And now, all the introduction type thingies are out of the way and I can start writing some serious and well needed drama! Yamato's finally returning to Japan and there are lots of troubles waiting for him there ;). I hope it turns out as great as it seems in my head._

_Hope to hear from you all._

**_Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Money and Martyrdom**

* * *

Sweat had gathered on his chest, making the tight straps of his bag slip over his shoulders as he dragged himself down the hall to his hotel room. It wasn't a warm kind of sweat either. It was a cold, lingering sweat that had collected slowly during the long train ride, flight and cab journey to his hotel. He wanted a shower. But, even more than that, he wanted sleep. Back home he'd be setting up for bed right about now even though where he was the sun had only just risen. Finally reaching his room he rushed through the process of unlocking his door and let his two heaving bags drop to the floor as soon as he'd crossed the threshold. After kicking the door closed his body soon joined his bags on the floor as he collapsed from relief and exhaustion.

He didn't notice at first that his hotel room wasn't quite what he'd expected from looking at the pictures online. But, then again, that wasn't unusual. At least it was better than most places. There was a clean-looking double bed, complete with sheets and pillows, a bathroom, a window, a television, everything he needed. Anything else was just a bonus. It certainly looked like heaven after looking at the back of airplane and car seats for the last ten hours or so.

After some delirious mumbling into the carpet, Yamato peeled his face off the floor and set to standing. He knew he had to stay awake. If he fell asleep now he'd only make it more difficult to adjust to the different time zone the next day.

He stumbled over to the bed.

Must stay awake.

He sat down on the lumpy mattress and reached for the phone.

Must...stay awake.

He toppled sideways onto the downy pillow and poised his finger over the keys to call for room service. Some coffee would keep him awake.

Must...

With his legs still dangling off the bed and the phone abandoned by his head Yamato passed out cold, his mouth hanging open and whispered snores escaping his dribbling lips. He wouldn't realise what had happened until he woke up at 11pm the next day. And as soon as he realised, before even thinking about getting up, he took his time to swear at the ceiling and run through his terrible predictions of what the next twenty four hours would be like – none were worth looking forward to.

* * *

When 6am rolled around he pushed away all thoughts of sleep and set to ordering the coffee that he'd attempted to order twelve hours ago, along with two eggs, some pastries and even more coffee. He didn't take time to debate whether or not the food would be worth the bill. He just needed something to keep him awake.

That's how he spent his first _official_ morning in Japan; downing espressos with the practiced ease he showed when taking a shot of spirit, and tiredly chewing on sugary bread without really thinking. In fact, after moving into the 'so-tired-I-don't-know-if-I'm-even-alive' stage he did very little thinking if any at all. He was even able to watch some Japanese dramas because he didn't realise that he was watching them until he almost fell asleep on the remote and turned the television up to full volume with his nose. It'd taken him a full five seconds to realise that his ears were hurting because of the noise and not because one of them had fallen into his mug of hot coffee.

He had yet to fall asleep completely luckily. The sounds outside his window and the blaring sun seeping through the slotted blinds made sure of that. However, sometimes the sounds of the world waking up outside his window began to conveniently quieten whenever he dozed for long than a few seconds. Often it would be the shock of his face hitting the bed that would wake him up, but every other time a car would blast its horn suddenly or a ray of sun would leak through the blinds and start burning a hole into his face. He threw several tantrums the first four times it happened, but after that he became too tired to throw a fit and settled with angry grumbles and inward curses to the world.

Once the sun had reached a height to brighten his whole room Yamato's phone rang and without bothering to look at who it was that was disturbing him he rolled onto his back and placed the phone to his ear.

"**Yelloo**?"

He croaked, the strain of his neck affecting his voice. He heard a familiar chuckle through the speaker.

"**Good morning to you, too**."

Yamato groaned and kicked his legs across the bed, disturbing the sheet that had been neatly covering it.

"**Ugh, why would you say that? I think I'm dying**."

"**Aww, bad flight**?"

"**The worst. Right now I'd prefer to swim back to America than get another plane. My back is killing me**."

"**Are you at the hotel right now**?"

Yamato stifled a yawn and raked his nails over the stubble on his chin, reminding him that he had yet to even bother to take a shower. He didn't dare to check how bad his odour was.

"**Yep. I've just been sleeping and eating. Sorry I didn't say goodbye before I left. I didn't want to wake you**."

"**That's okay. I had an early meeting anyway, so thanks for being considerate**."

"**Are you still at work? I have no idea what time it is**."

"**It's about eight. I'm just leaving the office now. Are you suffering from jet lag, then**?"

"**Severely. I stupidly went to bed as soon as I got to the hotel. Now I'm tired all over again and I don't have proper blinds in this room. Why is everyone so noisy during the daytime**?"

"**Try to stay up until at least lunch time. Play cards or something or unpack some of your clothes**."

"**That might be a good idea. I have no idea what I packed. I just chucked a handful of things into that old bag. I might not even have a clean pair of underwear for tomorrow**."

"**Then, spend the day buying the essentials that you forgot about. You've got some money saved up, right? Why not buy a nice jacket or something**?"

"**I can't. I'm saving it all up for a stage, remember? I might not get that hotel gig after all. I don't want to set myself back by buying a few clothes**."

"**At least buy some fresh underwear, for everyone's sake**."

"**Yes, mother**."

He yawned again to the ceiling, not bothering to cover his mouth this time. It seemed all too easy to adjust once again to being in absolute privacy. He happily slouched, belched and scratched according to his own volition without considering what was rude or disgusting. The hotel room was entirely his domain. But, strangely, he still didn't feel comfortable enough to freely undress. There was still a lingering sense of paranoia that he'd kept with him all his life.

After taking a moment to realise that he didn't have anything else to say to Ken he rolled over, back onto his stomach, and tiredly mumbled into the phone.

"**Okay, I've got to order up some more coffee so I'll talk to you later. Goodnight**."

"**Have a nice day**."

"**Ugh, don't remind me**."

He hung up the phone on the sound of Ken's laugh and dropped his face down into the bed covers. It took a while for him to find the motivation to get off the bed. The first important matter on the agenda was a well needed shower. He grabbed the fresh folded towel that hung from a hook on the bathroom door and laughed as he picked up the tiny bottles of shampoo and shower gel as he made his way to the shower. It took a while to figure out how to work the taps but once he got the hang of it he made sure that the temperature was a hot as he could bear it. His skin quickly flushed a glowing red and the tension in his shoulders melted beneath the scalding water. The ache in his back from the airplane seats was rather persistent, but he decided that a walk around the city while he bought some essentials might stretch it out a bit. He'd much rather go for his usual morning jog, but with Tokyo being such a busy place he'd be sidestepping around pedestrians more than he'd be doing any actual exercise.

After his skin became nicely pruned he finally exited the shower with a sigh. He made sure that the towel was securely wrapped around his waist before entering the room, feeling slightly self conscious in the silence of the room with his chest on display. He wiped his neck to catch several stray droplets of water that had dropped from his hair and felt scratches against his palm from the prickly hairs on his chin. It brought his rugged face to attention once again and after hoisting the towel higher on his hips he strolled over to his bags with hopes that he'd packed his razor.

He kneeled before the largest bag and unzipped it with one hand while preventing the towel from slipping with his other. Like his personality suggested his bag was poorly packed and disorganised. Clothes were bundled into balls and stuffed into the corners to make room for more clothes and his toiletries were scattered about between the cracks. With a sigh he tipped the entire thing onto the floor and began digging through clothes like a child at the beach would dig through the sand.

During his search he came across the hauntingly black suit that he'd brought for the funeral and noted that he'd need to get it dry-cleaned. He pointlessly folded it neatly and placed it apart from the rest of the pile. After ten minutes of checking and rechecking his luggage he had yet to find his razor. He growled and realised that he'd have to go and buy one, meaning that he'd have to showcase to the world his rough appearance. But an afterthought brought him hope. This trip was the first time he'd used this particular bag since he last used it to move to America. He hadn't checked the pockets in practically five years. There was still the possibility that he'd packed a razor all those years ago and forgotten about it. Considering he was drunk when he'd first packed it and still remembered to bring such trivialities as socks and a toothbrush, maybe he'd packed it without realising.

He shuffled on his knees back to the bag and reminded himself of the several pockets both on the inside and outside of the bag.

In the outer pocket...was nothing.

In the side pocket...was a very old pack of gum; so old that it practically disintegrated when he squeezed it in his hand.

In the inner pocket...was something metal. It was quite a narrow compartment so he couldn't fit much of his hand inside to really feel what the object was when he first came across it. He rubbed his fingers over it and discovered another object as well. They were similar in shape and...they were attached to something else as well - a ring. The objects were attached to a key ring by the feel of it. So, following a logical path of thought, that had to mean that...

He pulled out the object delicately and held it in an open palm.

It was a set of keys; a set of very _familiar_ keys. They had been left cold and abandoned in the bag for five long years. He rolled them between his fingers and felt across the jagged teeth, remembering exactly what locks they would fit into. He remembered the doors, their paint colours, how stiff or smoothly they opened and exactly what they lead to. Nostalgia brought with it icy hands that ran over his body, causing him to shiver. But he mistook the cause of his sudden coldness as the cold water that still dripped from his hair onto his naked chest. To put a stop to it he decided that it would be best to put some clothes on. So, he dropped the keys on the bed and never truly noticed that with that small action he felt much warmer already.

* * *

At eleven o'clock, after a desperate search for some warm clothing, Yamato braved the winter weather of Tokyo in a faux fur hooded parka and a pair of heavy boots. During the time it took him to put some clothes on more people had gathered in the streets. He took his time walking around the city. The sense of nostalgia had long since passed, replaced now with a sense of awe at the changes he could see. Young adults that had escaped their studies paraded in new fashions down the high street, flaunting their new gadgets and accessories that had yet to catch trend in America. When he passed new, fashionable outlets he heard new songs playing on their radios, performed by equally new bands and artists that had recently gained popularity. He felt out of place in his own home country.

It wasn't just the changes that evoked a sense of strangeness either. Even the things that were the same felt different to him. The usual lines of vending machines that sold close to everything now seemed like an oddity. Who in America would think to buy a tie from a vending machine or a bag of fruit? Passing by food stalls he could hear the harmonising of slurping and smacking lips while the people ate, something he'd been scolded for doing in the presence of his roommate. At least there was one thing that was the same. In both of his homes there were so many lights. The sun that was at its brightest even struggled to compete with the flashing advertisements, spotlights, shop signs and traffic lights that had enough power to noticeably shine on a bright morning.

It didn't take him long to find what he needed. In less than an hour he'd bought a cheap pack of razors and few plain pairs of boxers to last him for the next few days. After that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Lounging around for a night and morning had left him restless and reluctant to return to the seclusion of his hotel room. It was barely twelve o'clock and only the first of so many days where he had nothing to do. The thought made him regret coming to Japan so many weeks before he needed to be there.

Aimlessly wandering around the shopping area he approached the vending machines without really thinking about it and browsed the drinks. There was a typical collection of cold sodas but unlike what he was used to there was also a selection of warm canned teas as well in extensive flavours. He didn't feel particularly adventurous and so settled with a can of green tea. All he really wanted to do was warm his fingers. He hadn't thought to buy a pair of gloves yet. He very nearly allowed himself to slip back into American custom and walk off with his drink but looking around he realised where he was and scoped the scenery for a place to sit. A lone bench stood a few feet away that was only lightly dusted with frost which he saw as acceptable. He waited until he was comfortably seated, with his coat tucked beneath him to protect his jeans from being soaked by the ice, before opening the can and holding his face over the open top for the steam to warm his nose. There was no way to protect his shoulder bag though. He dropped it on the floor by his feet and saw a darkening of the material spread from what of it touched the wet floor. His newly bought underwear was likely to be damp when he took it out.

He felt a bit ridiculous just sitting on a bench and enjoying his tea. He was used to a town where everyone was busy – no one task was done with a person's full attention and no one could simply sit on a bench without doing a separate job that incorporated the act of being seated. He was used to strange looks from Americans who assumed that he was a lout or a bum because he sat on a bench without a laptop on his knee. But here he didn't receive any strange looks. In fact an older woman in a suit sat next to him for a moment to quickly consume her own drink before dashing back into her busy day. He watched with interest while she barely acknowledged that he was there.

"Please, Hondo! I just want one picture."

"No, way. Can't we just use one of those passport photo booths?"

"But look at the choices! We can have one with hearts in the picture! Or dolphins! I want to put it on my keychain, like Mitsuki and her boyfriend."

"What?! I don't want people seeing that. It's just stupid."

"It's not stupid!"

Yamato looked towards the entrance of the arcade and saw a young teenage couple tugging at each other's hands around a novelty photo booth. The young girl's pleated skirt lifted to a dangerous height when she leant down to look at the choices of layouts on the booth and for her sake Yamato kept his eyes above her waist. Her boyfriend kept his other hand in his pocket, keeping his head down to avoid anyone noticing that he was hanging around a cheesy couple's booth. He won the fight eventually and dashed off with her trailing behind and Yamato watching from his place on the bench. He remembered being in a similar situation in high school. He remembered standing by the same brand of booth by the beach, pretending to focus on a cigarette between his fingers while his hand was being tugged into the booth by an overly excited companion.

Yamato rolled the can between his hands, feeling what was left of its warmth transfer into his palms. His expression was serious now – no longer contemplative or serene. He'd tried desperately not to think about this, but he was too tired to properly shepherd his train of thought. There were stray images that swiped across his eyes that he didn't have the strength to banish. It felt like a migraine more than a moment of clarity. Each memory was a thick needle that slowly pierced and slid into his temple. Although his visits to central Tokyo hadn't been frequent he'd experienced the place enough to give it some sentimental value. Not enough to miss the place when he left, but he could see shadows of himself around the city tracing paths that he'd travelled down. He watched himself dash out of restaurants to skip the bill; play dead on the pavement just to fish for an interesting reaction; stumble to the station after a night of drinking. And all of these shadows lead right back to him on the bench. He was their future.

What of the other silhouettes that dashed and lay down and stumbled beside him? What future did they lead to?

Yamato placed his cold can gently on the floor so that the remaining tea wouldn't spill and protected it from the wind with his foot so that it wouldn't fall. Then he dipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He'd picked them up before he'd left the hotel after thinking that they looked lonely and abandoned on the double bed. They warmed in his palm as he ran his thumbs over the cool metal. He thought of the home to these keys. Had the duplicates of these keys been passed on to new hands over the years?

With a sigh he gripped them tightly in a fist and wondered how much of his home had changed. Did the Odaiba that he remembered still exist? Was the corner shop he frequented still there? What about the hill behind his old high school, or old tree in the park with his name carved into it?

He raised his eyes to the road, counting the few cars that drove by.

"If the next car is red...I'll visit Odaiba."

He whispered to himself. He wasn't entirely serious in his promise. It was hardly even likely that the next car was-

The crimson Toyota's headlights looked to be winking at him as it drove by.

"Shit.

Yamato stomped his foot in shock as he lurched forward and knocked over the can. A short second later he heard the aluminium against the concrete as it began to roll away. He quickly stretched underneath the bench soon enough to pick it up again with a sorry wince. People hadn't looked at him before but they were certainly straining their necks now to watch the man swear to himself. More heads turned when he began to laugh.

"Ahaha, what a coincidence. I scared myself a bit there."

His manic laughter tapered off slowly and those around returned to their business reluctantly, either glad that they were no longer distracted or upset that they'd lost a source of entertainment. When the last of his chuckles were carried off with a particularly strong gust of wind that blew through him Yamato's serious face returned. The coincidence had left him slightly shaken. Had he been serious about his bargain he would've really had to visit his home town. What an awful idea. The whole reason he'd been reluctant to come to Japan was because he didn't want to encounter anyone he knew and going to Odaiba was worse than going into the lion's den. It was the equivalent of holding open the lion's mouth, staring it straight in the eye and grabbing its tongue.

But...the dangerous territory he spoke of was his home. There was more than just people there. There were happy spots in time that linked to the place itself. Maybe he could just look at the scenery...just to see if anything had changed. It's not as though he had anything important to do today.

He squinted his eyes in absolute concentration. He held one word in the front of his mind as he stared into the road.

Yellow.

Sure enough the Hondo that rushed passed him was pristine, impossible to miss, badly suited, daffodil yellow. He didn't throw a tantrum this time. What was the point? He'd given the world a choice and he'd been given the final decision. He was a man with orders now.

Yamato drank the remains of his tea because he felt obliged to and dropped the finally empty can into the recycling bin beside him. He wiped his mouth across his sleeved forearm and then across his naked hand, feeling the stubble on his cheek once again. It was for the better now. No one now would recognise him as being the delicate young boy who could barely grow a shadow on his lip only a few years ago.

He walked with powerful strides to the nearest station, hardly noticing the anxious twisting of his gut.

* * *

_His heart had set on fire somewhere around his second lap and the fire was spreading to his dry, rubbery oesophagus. He concentrated on his feet. His coach told him to experiment with running on his toes and his awareness of his technique was overtaking that of his speed._

"_Come on, Yamato! You're four seconds off! Pick up the pace!"_

_He heard the shout from the opposite side of the track. He didn't acknowledge his coach apart from lifting his head to show that he was aware of what he'd been told. He tried to put his footwork in a corner of his mind where it didn't take up all of his attention. The spongy floor of the track gave way for the pounding of his feet against it as he pushed himself harder. The world seemed to be running away from him in the opposite direction, passing by him so quickly. The fire reached the back of his throat after he gave up trying to drown it with gulps of his own saliva._

"_Last lap! Really push yourself for this one!"_

_He overtook the voice of his coach as he ran past him at the start line. At his order Yamato leapt off on the foot that he landed on and forced his legs forward with all of his power. Pain was hardly a hindrance now. He didn't ignore it, he savoured it. He hated sports, but he loved this. Adrenalin wasn't the easiest drug to get his hands on, but it was always there when he needed it, unlike everything else. If he took a pill or had a smoke whenever he was low he'd probably be dead. Running was his opiate when he couldn't trust himself with anything else. Worries fell to the importance of keeping his body moving in rhythm._

_Fuck love. Fuck school. Fuck brushing his hair. Fuck parents. Fuck getting a job. Fuck talking to people. Fuck game shows, microwave dinners, bitter old ladies, uniforms, dental floss, math homework, high collared shirts, getting the bus, bank accounts, school festivals, indoor slippers, hand soap, picking fights, smoking dope, blacking out, bad hand jobs, being alone! Fuck it all! _

_Breathing became more and more difficult. The air was cold enough to burn his sinuses and too thin to give him the oxygen he needed. He threw his arms with the same power that he used to throw his legs. His hands were clenched in fists and punched the air in rhythm._

_Fuck university. It didn't matter that he couldn't go. What would be the point anyway, even if he could afford it? There was nothing he wanted to study. The only reason he was upset was because he wasn't given an option. Anyone would despise having their future chosen for them._

_He could feel the tenderness in the back of his legs from hitting the ground with such force. He was back to his usual technique, thinking only about pushing himself to move faster. He gritted his teeth and forgot about his breathing technique as well. All he cared about was giving his lungs the air they needed. His coach standing on the sidelines was cheering him on, which meant he was obviously doing something right._

_Fuck getting a job. He had free time anyway. What was the point in indulging in the things that he enjoyed? They wouldn't do any fucking good in the future. And his friends? He'd lose them anyway when they went off to study without him. He'd need to prepare himself to not spend so much time with them, so why not start sooner than later?_

_He could feel his knees begin to lock. He was close to his limit. The pulsing of the blood in his face was becoming more of a distraction than ever. The rhythm was fast and the hammering of his blood in his ears synchronised with each impact of his trainers against the track._

"_Come on, Yamato!"_

_Each laboured breath scraped against the dry back of his throat, blistering the tender surface. His fists clenched tighter. His back teeth felt close to shattering he was clenching them so hard. His coach held to his cap when Yamato ran past so that it wouldn't be blown off by the wind that Yamato carried with him. When Yamato threw his leg over the peeling white line his coach's thumb that had been poised over the button on the stopwatch pressed down and the final digits flashed on the small screen._

"_Yes! You beat your time by point six!"_

_Yamato didn't hear. He maintained his speed and powered on. He didn't want to stop. As he turned the corner round the track the school gate came into view right in front of him, across from the sports field. He was tempted to run right off the track and through the gate. Maybe he could make it halfway across town before he threw up from over exertion._

"Yamato, you're done! You can slow down!"

_His voice was just extra noise that fell silent to Yamato, like the whistling of the wind as it rushed past his ears. Everything hurt. But he wasn't done. It wasn't over yet._

"_You'll strain yourself!"_

_Yamato suddenly halted, not even bothering to slow down before he came to an absolute stand still. He leant forward over his feet at his abrupt halt in the middle of the track. His breathing was deep and fast – greedy and desperate. He stared at his feet and saw from the bottom of his vision that his legs were shaking. His coach silently watched, pulling off his cap to prevent the view of his student being obscured. He watched Yamato fall sideways onto the grass and almost began to run over to him to check him for injuries. Before he'd placed even one foot forward he heard the loud, obnoxious laughter of Yamato who rolled around on the grass. He sighed and scratched his head, mumbling to himself._

"_It's always the weirdos that are the talented ones."_

_He laughed and saw from afar the absolute joy on Yamato's face as he slowly struggled to sit up._

"_Come on, Yamato!"_

_He retreated to the bench on the edge of the field to fill in his progress report._

_Yamato was practically crying he was laughing so hard. He didn't even know what the cause of it was. Perhaps he'd simply not drunk enough water. He wiped his face with his grassy hands, smearing green across his red cheeks. His chest was practically vibrating. Eventually, after the feeling came back into his legs he jumped up and jogged over to his coach who was scribbling down on his clip board._

"_Coach?"_

"_Yep?"_

_The older man didn't look up. He simply spared his hand to pat the seat next to him for Yamato to sit down. Yamato wiped his soaking face again and looked out onto the track with a longing smile._

"_I'm giving up."_

_That got the man's attention. He looked to his student with a cocked brow_

"_What do you mean you're 'giving up'?"_

"_I'm not doing track anymore. This is my last practice."_

_The coach dropped his clipboard onto the bench with deliberate carelessness and looked down at Yamato who was still panting._

"_Your reason?"_

_Yamato stayed silent and smeared the sweat on his hands across his cold arms._

"_Yamato, you're good. I'm not letting go of one of my best runners without a good reason."_

"_I can't say. I'll get in trouble."_

"_With who?"_

"_The school."_

_The older man rubbed his neck with a weary expression. Yamato had always been difficult to deal with. The young student had always been aloof and unwilling to communicate. He could guess what the boy was up to outside of school. He saw himself to be a young rebel with no future and everyone knew it. Whether that was what he actually was had always been a matter for debate. _

"_May I ask you as a concerned adult, then? I'll judge whether or not the school needs to know what's going on."_

_He still cared for the boy. Yamato didn't speak to many other students so he always worried that the boy may have problems that he couldn't talk about. So, he asked out of his own interest, not lying that he wouldn't tell the school if it was important._

_Yamato judged the man's face for a moment before deciding that he didn't have much of a choice to keep his reasons to himself._

"_I got a job."_

"_A job?" _

_He laughed. Yamato didn't share his amusement and his downward gaze stopped his coach from laughing once he'd seen it. The man looked at the younger male with the tilted head of a questioning dog. Something told him that this wasn't the decision of a student that honestly wanted to work for the sake of learning responsibility._

"_You're not cutting school all together are you?"_

"_No. It's an evening job at a cafe bar type thing."_

"_Do your employers know you're in school?"_

"_They know my age. They didn't ask about whether I'm in school or not."_

_After looking Yamato up and down he tore out the progress sheet from his board in frustration. The noise of tearing paper made Yamato beside him flinch and lower his shoulders._

"_The teams really going to suffer, you know."_

_Yamato picked up his water bottle by the side of the bench and stood up._

"_Sorry."_

_He tried his best not to look back at his coach or the track when he dashed to the locker room. He regretted not running out the gates when he had the chance._

* * *

Yamato began walking away from the school at a fast pace after looking at the track longingly for a few moments. A few members of the school club were still jogging round at a leisurely pace to cool down after a sprint.

He found himself more entertained in Odaiba than he'd expected. The sun had leapt over the sky and began to set on the opposite side while he'd been preoccupied. He'd found his name on the tree in the park and inspected the new names that surrounded it. He'd bought lunch from the restaurant that had taken the place of the old corner shop where he used to buy his beer. As for the hill he didn't care to visit it. He could see it from his place at the front of the school and that was enough. It would be overwhelming for all of his memories of his hill to come back at once. It had been his refuge when he felt like brooding and his secret escape when he and another got a bit too excited during lunch. Maybe now it was another boy's territory.

At this point he'd chosen to walk the usual route that he used to jog when he got the chance. He went past the school, through the suburbs, past the beach until he was lead where he would usually start – at a weathered block of apartments.

The door that he'd had in his memory was different to what it was in reality. The paint was the same, but years of the sun shining on it and wind beating down on it left the colour faded and patchy. But it was definitely the same door. There was even still a chip in the step that he remembered tripping over countless times while he grew up living here.

He took a gulp of cold air and brought the keys out of his pocket, feeling the same chill that he had in his hotel room. He clasped the first between his thumb and forefinger and poised it over the lock.

"If the key still works, I'll go in."

He mumbled and stilled a shiver that shook his hand. He didn't know which result he was hoping for. He didn't know if he would actually go in if it worked. His mind was bottled chaos.

The key slipped in with only a small jolt of resistance that made him flinch. It turned smoothly and with a firm press against the door it swung open. He chuckled softly.

"Ha, cheapskate landlord. No wonder this place kept getting broken into."

His footsteps still echoed in the stairwell like they used to as he climbed the metal stairs, reminding him of the agonizing sound of a prisoner taking his final steps towards his execution. Although he was now a lot fitter than he was in his late teens, the three flights of stairs seemed a lot more difficult to climb than they used to be.

On the last step he felt his knees creak as though the level of gravity was greater on the particular floor of the apartment complex. His next obstacle stood directly opposite him at the top of the stairs. The panels in the apartment door looked like accusing eyes that seemed to challenge him as he slowly approached. He looked at the lock and was quick to judge that the key that he had yet to use would most likely fit into it. But, he was no longer a tenant. He had no right to enter without permission.

He held a loose fist before the door and hesitated. He still had a chance to run away. He didn't know what he was hoping for. Maybe it would be better if a stranger answered the door rather than his father.

He knocked on the door gently at first. After a short while of waiting he received no answer. So, he knocked again but this time a little harder, although he kicked himself a second afterwards for destroying his last chance to run away. He still stood stiffly in front of the old door in anticipation. There was no sign of life from the other side. Whoever lived there wasn't home.

Was he supposed to leave? Or was this all just a test to prove himself as brave enough to confront his past?

He found himself hesitantly stepping back from the door. Whatever he decided to do he knew that there was no point in knocking again on a door to an empty apartment. He adjusted the hood of his coat to prepare for the cold and took his time walking back to the stairs, hoping or worrying that someone might still open the door. He took one last look back at it before making his decent.

Two seconds after Yamato took his first step down the stairs another man, quite a bit older, was unlocking the front door to the apartment complex. His hair was evenly grey and his face was characterised by deep lines that cornered his mouth and eyes. In his hands were several plastic bags of food that he struggled with while his keys were still in his hand and close to slipping out of his hold completely. With luck and persistence he managed to keep hold of all four bags and loop his keys around his finger to leave his hands mostly free. His progression up the stairs was slow and required a lot of concentration. He cursed the stubborn, cheapskate landlord for not making the building wheelchair accessible for when his elderly muscles began to tire. By focusing so much attention on his unsteady feet and heavy baggage he didn't notice when he almost ran into someone until he heard the stutter of unsteady footsteps on the metal stairs.

"Oh, sorry."

He stuttered and looked up into a young man's face that he didn't quite recognise. The man had a pointed chin and shapely blue eyes that reminded him of his wife. The thick coat and pulled up hood concealed most of his features but from what he could see the man was young and fit and a new object of jealousy for a man that was on the downward slope in his life. The younger man smiled lightly and took a step to the side to allow him to pass.

"That's okay."

His voice was deep and smooth; familiar but foreign. He took one last look at the stranger before offering a grateful nod and continuing up the stairs to his apartment. While at his door he listened to the other man's footsteps as he ended the last flight of stairs and exited the building. There'd been something so familiar about him. But...the man was so young it was unlikely that he was an old friend or something. Perhaps he worked at the station, or was a waiter at a restaurant he'd been to, or maybe he'd seen him in the apartment complex before. He did have quite a memorable face after all. He seemed like the kind of man that would be difficult to forget. His blue eyes were piercing and so rare in Japan. He was tall enough to look over most people and would definitely stick out in a crowd, especially with that...blond...hair...

Ishida Hiroaki let his four heavy bags drop to the floor, forgetting about the eggs that he'd been so careful not to break and the milk carton that probably split when the tinned fruit was dropped on top of it. He left the food by his front door and found himself moving faster than he thought he still could as he jumped the stairs and leapt out into the cold. He looked to his left into the street and saw it empty. Then he looked to his right. Two of the street lamps had been smashed, leaving that end of the road in a darkened state, but where the first intact light was he saw a thick coated figure emerge from the darkness with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted to the ground. He didn't care about embarrassing himself or waking any neighbours when he shouted in a shaky voice.

"Wait! Stop! Hey you!"

He called out to the man who either didn't hear him or realise that the he was being addressed. Hiroaki took a few steps forward on his tired legs and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Yamato!"

When the man froze in mid step Hiroaki took off in a sprint towards him.

Yamato didn't recognise the voice, or the man that was running towards him that was shrouded in darkness, but he definitely recognised is own name when it was shouted at him. He turned around slowly to look at the man and, in his shock at being recognised, had difficulty thinking who this person could be. An old teacher? An old boss? An uncle? All were unreasonable suggestions considering he was standing outside of his old apartment building expecting to meet his _father_. For some reason the thought that this man was his father never came to him.

As the old man walked forward to reach the span of the light that Yamato stood under his features became more distinct, and Yamato became more uncertain of whom this person was. The shape of his eyes matched his own, but the man was sharply dressed, unlike what he remembered of his dad. He was apparently fit, unlike his dad. His face was clean shaven and his hair tamed, unlike his dad. And most importantly he was sober...unlike his dad.

Yamato stood helplessly still until the man was right in front of him. They were equal in height, meaning that he met the other's pointed stare directly and felt it pierce through his eyes and brain. Yamato didn't protest when the elder man reached over without warning and pulled down the hood of his parka to expose his full face and hair. The wrinkles on his face stretched to accommodate more lines when the man smiled. His eyes were bright and moist when he finally spoke.

"Okaeri.[1]"

Realisation felt like a punch in the face. Yamato felt himself gag on a caught pocket of air in his throat. In the time that it took him to digest the situation his father had caught his breath and entered his personal boundary completely, radiating enough warmth to protect Yamato from the night air. Eventually Yamato's features began to relax; his fists unclenched; his knees unlocked and his eyes that had been wide and frightened returned to their usual state if not slightly softer. His voice came out as breathy and pathetic, hardly traceable between what little noise surrounded them. But Hiroaki had most definitely heard it.

"Tadaima.[2]"

A silence hung between them, barely disrupted by a passing car that flashed its headlights over the two shocked faces. They both felt as though they were confronting a stranger, not completely convinced that they knew the person opposite them. Yamato stuttered to speak first, but upon meeting the other's eyes submitted to silence once again. Hiroaki did the same a few times as well before finally deciding to say something insignificant so to gently chip away at the solid barrier between them.

"Y-Your...your hair...is longer. I didn't recognise you."

"Yeah."

Yamato sighed, scratching his rough neck gently and dropping his gaze from his father's eyes. He looked down at the man's suit clad torso instead. He noticed the man's arm twitching quite noticeably. Not the nervous kind of twitch, but a twitch that moved the entire arm with the hesitant urge to move them. Those small movements were his only warning for the moment when his father threw his arms around his shoulders clumsily and harshly. The "hug" as he wanted to call it was cruelly tight around his neck and the force of the body thrown into his own left Yamato feeling dizzy and stunned. He didn't react for quite a long time, but Hiroaki was persistent in maintaining their connection. Yamato's fully grown body felt foreign to Hiroaki, but small signs were all he needed to recognise him. Yamato's scent, the curve of his shoulders, even the way he breathed was all that was needed for a father to know his son.

Yamato was the same. Although an embrace from his father had always been rare he could recognise the way his father's chin would fit into his shoulder. Just like when he was held as a child, his father curled his fingers into his skin as though he were hooking in his talons, preparing to never let go. Yamato finally wrapped his arms around his father's chest and felt his body soften.

"I just-...I just can't believe I didn't recognise you."

Hiroaki laughed and his chest rumbled against his son's. He pulled out of the hug with his hands on Yamato's shoulders and finally met his son's eyes with courage instead of uncertainty. There was no longer a hesitant expression on his face - only a smile. One that was brighter than Yamato ever remembered it being. He managed a nervous nod in reply. Then his father tangled a wrinkled hand into his overgrown blond locks and sent all hairs astray in different directions.

"You look so much older."

He said without really noticing that he had spoken. Reflexively Yamato batted his father's hands away like he always used to.

"Hey! Speak for yourself, old man."

Another reflex. He cursed his sharp tongue and instinct to talk back when he saw his dad make a strange face. But he found himself worrying unnecessarily when that face cleared only to make room for more laughter

"Oh God...it really is you!"

Another swift, punishing hug came soon after, startling Yamato once again. It didn't last as long as the first crushing hug though, which he was guiltily relieved about. When their bodies parted Hiroaki wiped under his eyes, as though they had been leaking, and smiled at his son.

"I see that...you've kept your key all this time."

He laughed and Yamato, who had been running his fingers over the set of keys while he had been walking away, pulled the keys from his pocket.

"I wouldn't just throw it away."

He held them out to his father as proof. Hiroaki folded his arms after shortly inspecting them.

"But you were just going to walk away without actually visiting me?!"

"Well you obviously weren't in. And...to be honest I kind of came here on a whim. I didn't know what I would do if I actually saw you. My feet just sort of...brought me here without me realising."

Hiroaki gave a strange look to his son, unsure of what to take from what had been said or how to reply. He uncrossed his arms with a sigh and Yamato thought for a second that he'd upset the older man. He put the keys back in his pocket shamefully and lowered his head. Hiroaki tuned his body halfway towards the apartment block and waved his arm towards Yamato.

"Come inside. My groceries have probably defrosted by now."

"Sorry about that."

Yamato bashfully chuckled and followed a few steps behind his father towards the apartment. They walked silently up the metal stairs to the apartment door that they had both stood outside of not a few minutes ago where the collection of food was slowly thawing. Yamato picked up three of them and shifted his own bag to rest on his shoulder while Hiroaki unlocked and opened the door. He picked up the last bag on his way inside and held the door open for Yamato.

"Welcome home, I guess."

He smiled and gestured with his free arm to the apartment. It took a moment for Yamato to find the will to actually enter and when he did he did so at a cautions pace. He passed his father slowly to inhale enough of the man's cologne to make the inside of his nose itch, but while both of his hands were filled with grocery bags he couldn't attempt to scratch it.

His first thought of the apartment?

'Where the fuck am I?'

He was so certain that an alternate universe must have existed within the apartment complex because there was no feasible explanation as to how his old shitty apartment could have been transformed into what he was currently looking at.

Hiroaki tapped his awestruck son on the shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen. Yamato jumped out of his stupor and began toeing off his boots blindly while his eyes were still preoccupied with viewing the apartment.

"I see you've noticed that I fixed up the place."

Yamato nodded dumbly and took in all of the changes. On top of actually being able to see the floor without it being obscured by litter he noticed that new hardwood flooring had been laid. It was buffed, varnished, polished and free from scratches and cigarette burns. The walls had been repainted a fresh cream colour with new pictures hanging straight in silver frames around the living area and on the shelves where books were neatly lined. There was even a vase of flowers on the centre table instead of the typical dirty plates and empty beer cans.

"Are you sure we're in the right apartment?"

He was still looking around in shock while he followed his father into the kitchen, sliding his socks along the smooth wooden floor. Hiroaki laughed as he began unpacking the food from the bag that he'd placed on the counter. Yamato put down the bags that he'd been carrying next to it and leant against the sink, taking in the new kitchen as well.

"The station picked up a few years back and I came into quite a bit of money after I was promoted. I didn't want to move because...well, you might not be able to find me again. So, I just put it towards fixing this place up."

"It looks great. I had no idea you had taste."

"I don't. I had to get a designer in. I was given quite a stern lecture from her for wanting to paint the place green."

A polite laugh was shared between them while Yamato helped to unpack the rest of the groceries, assuming correctly that the layout of the kitchen was the same as it used to be. After it was done Yamato leant his back against the counter and watched as his father tried to prolong the process of stacking the last few items into the refrigerator. They were both silently asking themselves the same questions, the most obvious one relating to what they should say next to spark a light conversation.

"Do you...Do you want a coffee?"

"Uh, yeah, that'd be great. Thanks"

Smiles were given out of courtesy and without any sincere expression behind them. Yamato turned his head away quickly to hide his embarrassment and Hiroaki turned towards the counter to prepare the drinks for the same reason. He managed to calmly take out two mugs, turn on the kettle, take out a spoon from the drawer next to him and open the lid to the jar of instant coffee while pretending that his son that he hadn't seen in five years wasn't standing right behind him. However, as soon as he heard the small buzzer on the electric kettle the spoon was thrown down in shock onto the counter and the boiled water abandoned. He spun on the heels of his slippers to look at Yamato who had jumped back at the sudden sound of the metal spoon colliding with the marble counter top.

"I-I'm sorry. This is all a bit...surreal. I'm not sure what to say...or do."

Yamato smirked and shook his head at the floor. His hands were clutching tightly at the edge of the counter behind him.

"I have as much of an idea as you. I'm sorry for just...showing up."

"No, no, don't be! I'm just glad you showed up at all. Why don't you look around the apartment or something? I'll just...finish making the coffee."

Yamato nodded and made his way into the living area. Walking through the apartment he remembered yet didn't recognise was an unreal experience. He ran his hand over the smooth leather of the sofa while he walked around it to meet the centre of the room. From here he could survey it entirely. He uncertainly put his hands in his back pockets and allowed his head to tilt and sway in any direction that felt right and observed whatever details of the room entered his line of vision. Although, after being caught in a fascinated stare at something in particular, he approached a shelf that lined the wall across from him and tilted back one of the picture frames to eliminate the glare from the lights that hung overhead. In the frame was a picture he had never seen before. He recognised himself in the image, although a lot younger. Himself and a boy that looked similar, but also much younger, were smiling brightly at the camera in the living room of their first family home. The remains of chocolate treats were smeared across their faces and the smart clothing that they had tried to struggle out of. Yamato smiled, not necessarily remembering the event but remembering the feeling of being young and playful. He placed the picture delicately back in its place and took a step to his right to get a look at the next picture on the shelf. This one was of only him. He was even younger in this picture, barely developed enough to sit up on his own. Two pale arms cradled him to a woman's chest whose face was out of reach of the camera lens. But, from the way his big eyes were staring up at her in amazement, he could assume that the woman was his mother. The slender, feminine hands held delicately to his small body that was pink and fresh.

"Where are these pictures from? I've never seen them before."

He called to his father and moved onto the next picture of Takeru on his first bicycle.

"I found some old film while I was cleaning up the apartment. There're lots more of you two when you were babies, but Takeru kicked up a big fuss when I tried to display them. There's a photo album in the top drawer if you want to see the rest."

Yamato spun around in search for the drawer that his father spoke of. A chest of drawers that he hadn't gotten around to noticing stood beside the television on his left and he assumed that was what he was looking for. He discovered the photo album where he'd been told it was only a few seconds later and he took the book that was heavier than he'd expected to the sofa to sit down. He flicked through the pages slowly, recognising most of the people yet none of the actual photographs. Each of them brought back memories that he hadn't realised were still stored in his mind after so many years of being neglected. He was so immersed in the photographs that he didn't realise that his father was standing right beside him until he'd cleared his throat to attract attention.

Yamato shook his head and looked up at the hand that held out a mug of fresh coffee. He accepted it with a small thank you and almost chocked on the first sip in surprise when his father sat next to him. He thankfully managed to hide his blunder and swallowed the coffee without too much of a struggle. Meanwhile his father leaned across him to look at the album in his lap, exuding his personal musk beneath the sharp scent of his cologne. Yamato, feeling restless in his seat, crossed his ankles and flicked onto the next page.

"I didn't know you took all of these."

He said as he turned his attention back to the photographs. His father laughed behind his closed lips and pointed at the photo in the top corner.

"Your mother took that one. We both did our fair share of documenting. I was just the forgetful one in charge of getting them developed. There were about twenty rolls of film stashed away in the cupboard."

Yamato nodded and shifted his eyes towards the picture that had been pointed at. It was of him and his father at the beach before Takeru had been born. He was looking in serious fascination at his father who was building a sandcastle in front of him, smiling at his son's reaction. He didn't remember the event at all and he didn't remember seeing his father ever looking so healthy and slim. Most importantly he didn't remember having fun with his father like this since the divorce of his parents. There were no laughs that he remembered sharing with his father without his mother watching on with love only a few feet away. The thought took the joy out of the photograph.

"There are some of you and Takeru in your yukatas somewhere in here, and a couple from your school concert too. I couldn't find any from your graduation, though."

Yamato sighed, hating to take the smile from his father's face.

"I...don't think you were there."

"Oh."

Hiroaki resorted to a guilty silence, not knowing what to say. Much to Yamato's expectation he had stopped smiling and now looked at the photographs on the page with a certain sadness in his expression. Both were upset while looking at the smiling faces in the glossy pictures that seemed to be at a level of happiness that felt no longer achievable.

Yamato remembered his graduation. He remembered looking at the empty seat where his father was supposed to be and dismissing the rise of negative emotions as though he was unaffected by the small act of betrayal. He'd held his hands in fists when he walked up on stage, too tense to properly accept his diploma without crushing it and he'd bowed in a stiff line. He remembered sitting on the hill behind the gymnasium with Taichi afterwards, rolling up a thick joint and stubbornly repeating that 'he hadn't expected him to come' and that 'he wasn't bothered by it'. After taking a moment to dwell in his old pain Yamato took a gulp of his coffee and recovered. Hiroaki however looked to be still absorbed in his regret, so Yamato took it upon himself to distract him. He closed the photo album and turned his body to his father.

"I've been living in America. I'm a musician."

Hiroaki looked up from his steaming coffee to his son.

"Really? A musician? You mean...performing on stage?"

"Yeah. I'm not a recording artist or anything, but I manage to make a pretty good living from it. I'm hopefully getting a job when I get back that'll give me enough to book proper stages and get some better quality equipment. I want to put on some big shows and maybe later on I'll think about making an album."

Hiroaki's smile grew as he truly listened to his son's voice. His tone was upbeat and filled with passion while he rushed through his words with excitement.

"That's great. It sounds like you're enjoying yourself."

"Yeah. I am."

Their awkward greeting and unhappy reminiscing was almost entirely forgotten when they smiled at each other. From that point on the conversation wasn't as strained. Yamato talked about everything that came to mind about his life in America and his father was genuinely interested in all that was said to him about the country that he didn't know much about. Once all that could be said had been the leading role in the conversation turned to Hiroaki. He chose his conversation topics carefully in comparison to Yamato. He talked about the success of his job, the woman that he'd recently been seeing, the affects of old age on his body among other things that were chosen to keep conversation upbeat and avoid mentioning Yamato's absence in his life.

Their drinks cooled over time and Yamato began to relax more and slouch back into the furniture, feeling his tiredness get the best of him despite the recent dose of caffeine. Noticing the dangerous droop of the cup in Yamato's hand Hiroaki decided to take it back into the kitchen with his own, receiving quiet thanks from a dozing son. He continued the conversation between the two rooms, raising the volume of his voice over the sound of rushing water while he washed out the used mugs.

"So, how long are you back for? Are you here for new year?"

"I was planning to leave on the 29th."

"Wow. That doesn't give you a lot of time, does it? When were you planning on seeing Takeru? Or your friends?"

Yamato pushed himself back up in his seat and tried to stimulate his eyes by rubbing them harshly with the heel of his palm to stop them from drooping.

"Uh...to be honest I wasn't planning on seeing them. At least not yet. I came back for other reasons."

He heard the water being turned off.

"And what are those reasons, exactly?"

His father's tone was sharp; not quite upset but being on the brink. Yamato didn't want to have to shout his reply, but it didn't sound like his father was going to come back into the room any time soon.

"I'm attending a funeral."

Silence met him at first but after a moment he heard the pat of his father's slippers on the wooden floor as he came back into the room. Yamato tilted his head back to look behind him at his dad. Hiroaki looked a little ashamed but otherwise not seriously upset by Yamato's words like the younger man had feared.

"I'm sorry, Yamato. Was it anyone I might've known?"

"No, he's someone that I met just before leaving. He performed at the cafe I worked at."

Hiroaki leant against the doorframe and looked at the back of the sofa, just below Yamato's face.

"So, you definitely didn't come back for us?"

Yamato lowered his eyes and turned his body back to face forward, basically ignoring his father's question entirely. Hiroaki sighed and sat next to his stiff and silent son. He noticed the way that Yamato bit his lip and curled his fingers into the furniture beneath him, but he didn't choose to change the subject. Joyful conversation was over.

"Yamato, were you ever planning on coming back?"

As much as he wanted to avoid the question his father stubbornly stayed in silence, refusing to allow any sort of conversation to proceed without his questions being answered.

Yamato rubbed his face again to try and get some blood into his cheeks. He had gone numb from tiredness otherwise and with his normalised circulation he felt tingles infecting the nerves in his face. Hiroaki watched him, trying not to feel sympathetic at the sight of his struggling son. Yamato soon turned his head towards him, but kept his eyes slightly lowered to look at his father's collar instead of his face.

"Eventually. But, truthfully, I didn't have any plans to come back until I heard about the funeral."

He darted his eyes upwards to look at his father's expression but lost his courage once he reached his chin which already looked tense with emotion.

"I'm sorry."

He spoke with the softest breath. Hiroaki didn't answer. Instead he turned to face forward away from Yamato and leant forward onto his hands that cupped his knees. His breathing was louder than usual and sounded slightly more forced through his nose. His head was steadily bobbing, as though he were agreeing with someone that was continuously talking.

"Alright."

He said in a strange tone. His neck muscles were straining to maintain the movement on his head. But then, with a final sharp nod, he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up.

"Alright."

He said in a completely different tone this time. Yamato watched in fascination, his eyebrows knitted tightly in confusion as he turned his whole body to continue staring at his father as he walked out of the room. He stared at the empty doorway that was his father's exit route and listened to the noises that emitted from the other room. A short moment later his father stormed back in with his sharp shoulders held stiffly as though his jacket were carved from marble. He didn't sit back in his original seat. He marched around the sofa and around the centre table all away to Yamato's side and dropped a cordless phone onto the table in front of him, not caring if he chipped the wood that looked freshly polished and clean.

"Call Takeru."

"What? Right now?"

"Yes, right now!"

"It's late at night, he-"

"He's your brother! You didn't say goodbye to him or tell him what was wrong and he was blaming himself for a long time because of it. You owe it to him. You've had five years to work up the courage."

Hiroaki made sharp, violent hand gestures as he spoke in a hardened voice. The facial expression, stance and voice could never have been associated with the usually quiet man before this moment in Yamato's mind. Yamato couldn't remember his father ever taking authority like this. He stared up at the stranger that was his parent in a frozen state of shock. Hiroaki eventually picked the phone back up and held it out directly in Yamato's face to break his stare.

"I'll say the numbers. You press the buttons. You can't keep running, Yamato."

Yamato, conscious once again, sighed with a slight growl buried beneath it.

"Dad-"

"It's not a request. I'm still your father, no matter how grown up you've become."

He tapped his fingers against the phone waiting for Yamato to stop gawking and take it from him. Yamato's face slowly relaxed, but he didn't move at all. He stared deeply into his father's eyes with a chin of stone, challenging him to give up; to let the matter go. Their stubbornness was proved to be a hereditary feature after quite a long moment of heatedly glaring at each other. Yamato pursed his lips finally and snorted sharply before snatching the phone from the outreached hand.

"You're setting me up for so much trouble, you know."

Hiroaki chuckled and shook his head.

"I really don't care."

He said, and it was never decided whether or not his laugh was sarcastic.

* * *

A phone was ringing in an apartment nearby. While the two occupants dozed on the sofa in front of the television neither of them expected the phone to be ringing in real life, and so neither got up to answer it at first. The noise's persistence was the only thing that indicated that it wasn't coming from the television.

"'Keru, you should probably get that."

"Yeah, I know."

The male of the embracing couple yawned and eventually pulled away the hand that was wrapped around the woman's waist. He stumbled in the dark towards the ringing cell phone in his bag by the front door. He didn't even bother to look at the caller ID before answering the call. He held it to his ear and stifled yet another yawn that made his eyes tear up.

"Hello?"

He heard his partner lowering the volume of the television and deemed it safe to return to his comfortable place on the sofa. He was barely listening to the voice coming from the phone's speaker.

"Uh...Takeru?"

"Mmmyeah...speaking."

"It's Yamato."

He'd heard the name clearly. But he didn't believe it. He convinced himself that he'd experienced a short lapse in sanity due to his tiredness.

"Pardon?"

"It's Yamato...your brother, assuming that I dialled the right number."

Yamato's small attempt at humour was not received at all well. In fact it was almost completely ignored. Takeru was pulled sharply from his tired slump to a high standing and Hikari, who had been falling back asleep only a few feet away, threw off the blanket covering her in shock when he shouted in a commanding voice.

"Where are you?!"

That question came purely from instinct over any other. No greeting or asking 'where have you been?' or even 'how are you?'. Hikari knelt up in her seat to watch Takeru shuffle back and forth while the phone was held to his ear. He kept hesitating towards the front door in a panic that was almost contagious.

"Well, I'm at Dad's right now, but-"

"I'm on my way!"

Hazel irises darted across whites to keep Takeru in sight as he rushed into the bedroom to change out of his pyjamas. He didn't bother to change his top though, not caring that it was dirty, and simply threw on a jacket over his dirty t-shirt. Afterwards he dashed back into the living room, skidding on his socks towards his shoes by the front door.

"What?! You don't have to get all worked up. I'm in town for a couple of weeks."

"I said that I was on my way, so I am! I'm putting on my shoes! Don't move a damn finger!"

On the other side of the call Yamato was finding it difficult not to laugh at Takeru's demands. Never before had he been ordered around by his little brother.

"Okay, calm down. I'll stay put."

"Good! I'll be over in ten minutes."

Takeru hung up with no goodbye or even a conclusive tone in his final sentence. He left the end of the conversation hanging intending to pick it up again once they were face to face. He dropped the phone onto the floor while he put on his shoes with more difficulty than expected. His overactive hands and desire for speed did more to hinder than to help the delicate task of tying his laces.

Hikari's dainty feet padded across the floor to carry her next to him. She held the blanket around her shoulders with one tense hand.

"What's going on? Who was that?"

While answering her, Takeru banged his feet against the floor to fit them into his shoes more comfortably.

"Yamato's at Dad's. I'm going over there to see him."

Hikari dropped the blanket in shock and caught herself only observing Takeru reach for the door instead of doing something productive. She stopped him with her words before he could step out the door.

"I'm coming, too!"

"You should go to bed, you've got work tomorrow."

"I'll call in sick. This is far more important. Just give me a second to put some clothes on."

She leapt over the crumpled blanket on the floor towards their bedroom manically. After watching her run off Takeru stepped over the threshold into the outside world before calling over his shoulder.

"I'll bring the car around. Meet me out front."

The door slammed shut after him and those that were listening could hear his rubber soled shoes hammering against the pavement towards his car that had been parked in the only available parking space at the bottom of the road.

* * *

Yamato chuckled as he hung up, thinking about how many more surprises were in store for him during this evening. First he was introduced to a well groomed, authoritative father, then his now deep voiced brother was giving him orders over the phone, he was half anticipating Takeru to show up with an extra arm or legs that were twice the length he remembered them to be. He gently placed the phone onto the centre table before leaning back into his seat with a sigh.

"Takeru's on his way over."

Ignoring his sulking son Hiroaki picked up the phone to place it back in its cradle in the kitchen.

"Good. Stop being a coward, Yamato."

"Yeah, yeah, story of my life. Do you have anything stronger than coffee?"

"Nope. I don't drink."

The phone made a beeping sound as it was connected with its charger. Normally it wouldn't have been noticed but during that moment the apartment had been completely silent. Hiroaki returned to the living room where Yamato was sat completely upright in his chair, stiff and silent, looking dead ahead and not at all recognising that someone else was in his company. Hiroaki approached him the way one would a snarling animal.

"I haven't touched it in about three years."

He said almost sadly, as though it weren't necessarily a good thing. Yamato didn't notice his tone at all, caught up in his own strange turn of thoughts, and looked at his father with a smile that in most circumstances wouldn't count as being sincere.

"That's..."

He paused, darting his eyes around the room as though the rest of his sentence was floating in the air around him.

"...great. That's _really_ great."

His father snorted sharply once through his nose; more of an indication of amusement rather than an actual laugh. He sunk back into the sofa coolly while his son was still stuck in his taut position next to him.

"A lot can change in five years, Yamato."

Yamato stared into his lap and nodded.

"Yeah. You're telling me."

The flow of conversation ceased completely during the wait for Takeru. Yamato sat rubbing his knees anxiously while Hiroaki watched him, finding the repetitive motion to grate on him the longer it continued. Eventually he pulled a carton from his pocket and held it out in offering.

"Cigarette?"

Yamato smiled softly in thanks and picked out a crisply rolled cigarette from the carton and placed it between his lips.

"What, you didn't give that up, too?"

His father laughed and picked one out for himself while simultaneously dragging towards him a glass ashtray on the table before him that was positioned there for mainly decorative purposes.

"I'm getting around to it. I'm only human – can't do everything at once."

He dropped the carton on the table next to the tray and picked an engraved lighter from his pocket. Yamato observed the process and gently nibbled at the cigarette end between his lips.

"You shouldn't have tempted me, you know. I've been smoke free for a few months now."

Hiroaki lit his cigarette and withheld the lighter teasingly with a smirk that rivalled the one that the one his son had trademarked in his youth.

"You don't have to accept it if you don't want it."

"I didn't say anything about not wanting it."

Hiroaki chuckled and spun the lighter between his fingers before offering it to his son. Yamato reached for it gingerly, half expecting his dad to jokingly pull his hand back when he got close. No such prank was played and the transaction was made smoothly. Yamato lit his cigarette effortlessly and deeply inhaled the fumes. At first, after so long without smoking, he found the taste to be sickly. He released the smoke from his lungs with a slight grimace. After that first draw it got a lot easier, and the smoke began to taste better. By the time he'd smoked half of his cigarette he forgot why he would ever think to give up such a wonderful thing in the first place.

He began to relax further with each intake of smoke. His rigid spine unlocked and he slowly rolled backwards to lean into his seat again. Yamato and his father looked related more than ever in that moment, similarly slouched and enjoying their cigarettes in silence, even going so far as to hold their cigarettes in the same fashion with their fingers relaxed and half bent.

Yamato bounced his leg anxiously. This was all happening way too soon. He'd thought that maybe he could simply check on his dad to see if he wasn't dead or something. He was nowhere near mentally prepared to meet Takeru. He didn't think he could properly look him in the eye. Nothing had been resolved when he'd left. All the issues had been hanging over him all this time and he'd done nothing but bat them away, hoping that later on he'd come to a decision about what to do...or how to feel. He knew that he'd forgiven Takeru, but there was still a lingering bitterness that scratched at the back of his tongue whenever he remembered what happened. There was anger and hurt but they remained twisting inside of him with no victim to be directed towards.

Both men jumped up in their seat at the sound of the doorbell being rung in a rhythmic pattern.

"That must be my other son."

Hiroaki sniggered and stubbed out what little was left of his cigarette as he stood up. Yamato didn't stand up to greet his brother. His legs were too shaky to put any weight on them. He flicked some ash into the tray and took another deep inhale of his cigarette, not knowing that the fingers on his other hand were tapping nervously against his thigh. His father shook his head at the sight and found himself having enough empathy to feel slightly nervous himself, despite having no reason to be.

He brushed a grey hair from his brow and pressed the button by the door that would allow his visitors to enter the building. Then there was a momentary wait. He had enough time to re-tuck his shirt and look back over his shoulder at the living area before knuckles rapped at the door from the other side. The gentleness of the knock confused him momentarily. After hearing Takeru's typical violent attack of the doorbell he expected to hear the also typical pounding of fists against his door. All of his questions were answered when he met Hikari's thin, feminine face upon opening the door. She stood alone in the hall, enveloped in a large woollen jumper that overwhelmed her slight frame. She smiled at him with tired eyes and he stood aside to allow her in.

"What a nice change to see you here, too, Hikari."

"Hello, Mr Ishida. Takeru's here, too. He's just-"

She stopped to listen to quickly pounding feet on the stairs as her partner leapt up the four flights. He rushed at her back, panting and pocketing his car keys.

"Where is he?!"

Hikari stepped across the threshold and stood at Hiroaki's side to allow Takeru to enter. Hiroaki jabbed his thumb in the direction down the hallway.

"In the living room."

No words were spared for a single greeting to his father. Takeru barely had time to kick off his loosely tied shoes before skating down the hall in his socks. Hikari smiled slightly after him and a silent agreement passed between Hiroaki and her that they should leave the boys, or men to be more precise, to greet each other in private. She followed the older man into the kitchen and he silently prepared her a cup of tea, knowing after her several visits to his home that she was not one to drink coffee.

Takeru stumbled at the room's entrance, contemplating several things in the few short seconds he had left. He questioned whether he should greet his brother with happiness or anger, for he felt both emotions so strongly that his expression changed back and forth between a fiery scowl and a smile that exposed even his back teeth. He entered the room with a blank face, willing to improvise his reactions instead of planning them out. Had he been informed a day earlier that he had been meeting his brother he would have probably planned everything down to his body language. But this was all so sudden and poorly timed that he felt it best to just allow the event to play out as it may.

Takeru saw the back of the sofa when he entered. Over the top of it, from the other side, peered a set of broad shoulders and a head of golden hair that hung long enough to hide the neck that attached the two. A delicate string of smoke sailed up from what he assumed to be a cigarette that was out of sight. It took little effort to make his presence known, despite Yamato being severely distracted. He coughed lightly and Yamato's ears almost twitched like a dog's when he caught the quiet sound. He tried to forge composure by taking his time to stub out his cigarette when in reality he was just trying to buy some time. He stood up and pivoted slowly on the balls of his feet.

Neither of them truly recognised each other. Takeru was no longer a scrawny teenager after all. He was a nearly fully grown man with a square jaw and blond evening stubble. His eyes still held their youthful round shape, which was the only defining feature that reassured Yamato of his identity. In Takeru's mind he almost felt angry about how well and healthy his brother looked. Yamato was no longer sickly thin and pale but lean with broad shoulders and glowing skin from an American summer. It didn't seem fair that his brother would do so well away from his home. He caught himself biting his lip to stop his expression from darkening any further.

"Hey there, little monster."

Yamato said in a smooth, calm voice that contradicted the screams of panic that echoed in his head. Takeru laughed bitterly at him and crossed his arms, looking frighteningly similar to his father.

"Che, five years and you still haven't dropped the cool act."

"Who said anything about it being an act?"

Takeru shook his head, his thoughts a complete mystery to Yamato who was unable to read his expression. Takeru's bottom lip was caught between his teeth and his brows were drawn together in a solid line, twitching with each sharp exhale. Yamato stood in silence, allowing his facade to slip away to expose his true humbleness. He waited for Takeru to speak first for he had nothing of any value to say.

"I hate you, you know."

Yamato almost believed him. He wondered if Takeru knew that his voice had wavered, or if maybe he'd intentionally allowed his voice to creak. Yamato nodded and lowered his head.

"Yeah...I know."

He didn't want to assume that Takeru hadn't been serious, so he stood quietly in preparation for what was to be said next. But, if anything, Takeru found his frustration to grow when Yamato didn't defend himself. He wanted a fight and he wanted answers to his questions. He uncrossed his arms and threw them to his sides in tight fists.

"You just ran off! You didn't call or write or anything! I thought you were dead!"

Yamato had only enough time to nod before Takeru raised his voice again.

"And now you have the fucking nerve to call me on a work night and suddenly walk back into my life?"

It was Takeru's turn to be silent this time. He anticipated a rebuttal from his usually feisty older sibling. Never before had he won an argument against him. And yet, Yamato did nothing. He was not willing to argue. He raised his head slowly and met Takeru's eyes. Takeru's voice and words sounded angry and hateful and his body language was equally as aggressive, but there was so much about him, things that only a brother could notice, that revealed what he truly felt. The faults in his performance were too many to count when he truly looked for them.

Yamato slowly circled the sofa, maintaining eye contact with a soft expression. As he began to approach Takeru took a hesitant step back towards the hallway.

"I fucking hate you!"

It was at this moment that the differences between the two brothers became most pronounced. Ishidas were not known for being the most affectionate of people. Other than in the special occasion of being reunited after five years Yamato would have hardly ever expected a hug from his father. However, Takaishis were well known softies in comparison. Visiting his mother's family, especially his French grandparents, had always proved to be a test of endurance for Yamato who disliked being touched by people he didn't know particularly well. If, in an angered state, Yamato was approached with a loving gesture he would most likely lash out in violence. But, when Yamato held out his arms to his young brother, whose eyes still welled with fury that had yet to be released, he knew that the reaction from Takeru would be very different.

Takeru looked at the offer quizzically at first, tightly clenching his lips shut to stop any further outbursts while Yamato was not responding to him in the way that he wanted him to. Yamato held his arms open despite the ache that grew in his forearms while he waited for Takeru to respond. Cautiously, like an animal inspecting an offering of food, Takeru loosened his fists and approached. From Yamato's serene expression he could see that he was being genuine, not that he had any reason not to be. What possible ulterior motives could there be to a simple hug? So, not seeing the harm at the same time as not seeing the point, Takeru stepped forward and allowed Yamato to wrap his arms around him without responding. He stood there, stiff and uncertain, while his emotionally warped older brother embraced him sincerely.

Takeru still hadn't managed to catch up to his brother in height and his cheek rested against his collar. It was the perfect position to be entirely surrounded by his sibling's warmth, with his strong arms locked around his neck and shoulders. Once in this position all sorts of emotions and forgotten feelings began to emerge from their hidden sanctuary beneath his rage. He recognised his brother's slightly sweet smell that used to linger in the bedroom they shared as kids; the movement he made as he breathed that reminded him of falling asleep on his brother's chest; his heartbeat that had always been so delicate and soft that he used to fear that it would fade at any moment.

It took a few seconds for it to work, but Yamato soon felt what he'd expected – Takeru's hands gripped tightly to the back of his shirt and he pressed his body closer. Takeru's stiff shoulders slowly relaxed, but then began to shudder.

"I _really_ hate you."

He whispered with tears in his voice rather than his eyes. He held tightly to Yamato, realising that his return trumped his leaving in importance. He felt the laughter rumble in the chest he was pressed against and sank further into the embrace, taking solace in the action that proved that there was still life in his brother's body.

"Join the club. I think you get a free tee shirt with membership."

Takeru didn't laugh. He smiled, though, and nuzzled Yamato's shirt with his nose, feeling that after years of throwing off his brother's mothering ways he wanted to be looked after once again.

"Hey, you alright?"

Yamato pushed him away gently. Not to break his hold, but to look his brother in the eye. Accommodating his closeness to Yamato's body Takeru swiped the heel of his palm across his eye and mumbled quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

He looked up into Yamato's face and beneath the slightly darker eyes, longer hair and solid chin he recognised the brother that he had lost. It was a great comfort to find him behind the near stranger that he'd first greeted. He shook his head of what doubts that had been pulling at him and smiled instead of glared.

"Never mind."

He laughed and pulled out of the embrace. It was not for his own sake but for his brother's whom he knew was easily unnerved by awkward hugs or eye contact that was held for too long. There was a short silence between them while Takeru recovered from the sentimental moment. After a moment of deep breathing and eye wiping Yamato decided that he'd waited long enough. He smiled and looked his brother up and down, noting the changes and similarities between his present and past appearance. He chuckled in his throat and took enjoyment from being able to still look over the top of Takeru's head.

"I was dreading that you might've gotten taller than me. Looks like I've been worried for nothing."

Takeru smiled and released a burst of air between his teeth that Yamato assumed to be a laugh.

"Shut up. You're just abnormally tall. Are you even Japanese?"

"Hey, I got Dad's height and you got his chin. That's a pretty fair deal to me."

"Yeah, and you got Mum's hair by the looks of it."

Takeru laughed pointing at Yamato's locks that curved around his face and rested on his shoulders. Yamato smirked, finding his brother's attempts at banter as endearing as they'd always been.

"Oh, and your bowl haircut is fashionable this season, is it?"

He rubbed his palm into the top of his brother's head, messing up his already tangled blond hair. Takeru tried to swipe him away a few times but was easily dodged by Yamato. Takeru laughed from the pit of his stomach and finally slapped away the hand with pretend anger.

"Nii-chan, stop it!"

They both froze and Yamato quickly snapped back his hand as though Takeru would bite him. They both looked at each other with wide eyes.

It had just slipped out. He'd become so relaxed and familiar while joking with his brother that...it felt like he was young again, addressing his older brother. Takeru panicked because Yamato had panicked. Did I offend him? Is it too soon? Does he still even consider me to be his brother after-...

Yamato had only stepped back on reflex. It had been a bit of a shock to be called that old name after so long. No one else in the world addressed him as Nii-chan, and even Takeru had began to stop using it as often when he grew up, only calling him that as a way to soften him up when he wanted something from him. Yamato began to relax upon seeing that Takeru's expression was much like his own. Did I offend him? Is it too soon? Does he even consider me to be his brother after-...

Yamato dropped the hand that he'd held stiff in the air after it had been slapped away by Takeru. He forced his face to relax and stood tall before his brother. Takeru called him 'Nii-chan' and so that is what he was once again. After five years...he was finally a brother again. He tilted his head and smiled – not smirked.

"I missed you, Otouto."

The ice in Takeru's spine and face melted. He looked up into the eyes of his brother and returned the smile wholly.

"Me too."

"Are you boys still fighting?"

Hiroaki called from the kitchen where he and Hikari had long since run out of light conversation. Hikari was sweet and polite, but Hiroaki had never really been the social type. Takeru thought about that for a moment and felt the need to rescue his partner from one of his father's uncomfortable silences. He straightened his shirt and directed his smile towards the direction of Hiroaki's voice.

"No, we're good. You can come in, now."

Hiroaki came out first with Hikari trailing behind him. As soon as the eldest noticed the moist layer across Takeru's eyes he marched across to his younger son to pat him on the shoulder. Takeru nodded, knowing that to his father that action was the equivalent of a hug. Yamato hadn't known that Hikari was in the apartment until he saw her at that moment. As soon as they made eye contact he gave a subtle, gentlemanly bow to her.

"Hello, Hikari. It's been a while."

She blushed lightly at the polite gesture but as soon as he'd straightened his back she leapt over to give him a gentle embrace. Being the affectionate type much like the rest of her family bodily contact was a top priority when greeting a friend.

"It's great to see you, Yamato. You look really good."

She smiled and stepped back to observe him. The differences between the two brothers were much more obvious now that they'd matured and Hikari took note of them all. Takeru allowed this for less than a second before he became impatient with the lack of her attention on him.

"Hey, hello. Boyfriend standing right next to you."

She turned to him with a cheeky smile before Yamato interrupted the two with a smile of his own.

"Oooh, boyfriend, you say?"

Takeru flushed. He had forgotten that Yamato was not up to date with issues like this. Yamato wiggled his brow and laughed, promising that Takeru would most definitely have to explain how this change in relationship came about and in explicit detail. Hiroaki caught the message as well and lifted a hand to his head with a laugh.

"It's a good thing I just went grocery shopping. Everyone sit down, I'll get you something to eat."

"You cook now?"

Yamato pretended to gasp, making Hikari giggle and Takeru roll his eyes. Before leaving to the kitchen Hiroaki pointed his finger at Yamato with his thumb point at the ceiling, mimicking the shape of a pistol.

"Watch it, wise ass."

He harmlessly threatened. With a harmless shrug he gave way for Hikari and Takeru to exit the room first.

Hiroaki hardly prepared a feast after only having bought enough food for himself during the week. A man living alone was never particularly picky about buying impressive meals. He made Yamato a fresh cup of coffee to keep him from banging his head on the floor when he kept dozing off in the middle of conversation. Hikari, as the only truly generous person there, offered to serve the food and the drinks when the old man struggled a bit. His hosting skills weren't what they used to be.

Yamato had to repeat pretty much everything that he'd told his father only a short while ago. He ran through everything that had happened quite quickly now that he'd had a bit of practice with it. When his tired mind struggled with words Takeru and Hikari gave him a bit of a break and told him about their lives. It wasn't until Takeru's third year of university that the young couple had realised their feelings for each other and by then Takeru had gotten a relatively good grasp on how to survive as an independent adult. He was currently interning at a publishing company while Hikari was working at a gallery on the edge of Tokyo trying to pick up some tips on how to kick start her career as a photographer.

Coffee was refilled several times more and heads began to droop. Feeling more comfortable around Yamato now that she had spoken to him Hikari felt that the atmosphere was casual enough for her to lean slightly on Takeru to support her tired head on his shoulders. Takeru had wrapped an arm around her waist and stifled a yawn in the crook of his other arm.

"So, where are you staying at the moment?"

Yamato tapped his nails against his coffee mug and gave his weary mind a short time to think about the answer before he actually spoke.

"Uh, I've got a hotel room booked on the edge of Tokyo for the next few weeks."

"Do you need a ride back? I don't think you've got enough time to catch the last train."

"Are you sure? It's a bit far out your way."

Takeru's hair swayed about his face as he shook his head.

"It's no problem, Hikari's not going to work tomorrow anyway and that coffee's going to keep me up anyway."

Yamato nodded. He wanted to say thank you, but his jaw muscles felt to have lost their elasticity and refused to operate his mouth to form the words. They all silently agreed that it was time to leave. Even Hiroaki who was used to working late ours was drooping his head to rest on his chest.

They cleaned their places and collected their things before heading to the door with Takeru leading the way to his car. However, just as Yamato was about to put on his shoes a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"Yamato."

"Huh?"

Yamato turned round to look at his father, nearly falling backwards into the door on his weak legs. Hiroaki held out his hand.

"Cell phone."

Yamato looked at the empty hand that was offered to him and then looked back up into his father's face.

"Say what?"

"Your cell phone. Give it here."

"O-Okay?"

He slowly reached into his pocket, all the while inspecting his father's face in wonder. The device was passed over hesitantly and Hiroaki took his own cell phone out of his pocket as well to hold a device in each hand. Yamato stared blankly, his exhaustion causing him to concentrate a lot more to focus on what was happening. His father typed his number into Yamato's cell phone and then sent himself a text so that he'd receive Yamato's cell phone number as well.

"If you don't call me in the next week then I'll call you. If you don't answer I'll hunt you down."

He handed the phone back and Yamato pocketed it, proud that he only missed his pocket three times with his shaky hands. He nodded and jammed his feet into his boots, not bothering to tighten the laces before following Takeru like an old dog out the door. They all whispered their final goodbyes down the hall while Hiroaki slowly closed his front door hesitantly. He kept it open so that there was just a slit for him to look out of. He wanted to watch his oldest son until he was completely out of his line of sight, thinking that that might eliminate the feeling of dread that came with watching his son walk away for the first time since the last, five years ago.

* * *

From Yamato's position in the back seat Hikari and Takeru looked like an already married couple. They joked and smiled across the gearbox and Takeru would look back at him in his rear view mirror like a dad checking on his children. Conversation wasn't strained on the drive to Yamato's hotel, but they all partook in regular silences to give themselves a short break. Eventually Takeru pulled into a familiar street and pulled to the side of the road.

"Is this the one?"

He asked, tilting his head to look up and the tall hotel. Yamato pulled his bag on his shoulder and unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Yeah. This is home for now. Thanks for the lift."

"No, problem."

Hikari turned around in her seat before Yamato could slide out and offered a tired smile.

"Goodnight. We'll see you soon."

Yamato nodded and opened the door. He would have said more but he could barely gather the energy to walk to his room. Behind him Takeru tightened his grip on the steering wheel before letting it go completely and rushing out of the car, leaving his door wide open and Hikari watching from the passenger seat.

"Wait!"

Yamato turned swiftly just as he reached the first paved step of the hotel. In three long strides Takeru had reached him with an urgent expression but once he'd fully approached he hesitated to speak. He brushed his hair, dusted his arms and stamped his feet, moving his mouth as though he were actually saying something. He didn't entirely know what he wanted to say. He'd just acted on the painful, knotted feeling in his stomach that grew as he'd watched Yamato walk away.

"Don't-...don't run off again."

He mumbled and bashfully lowered his head. Yamato's eyes softened.

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know. I just..."

Takeru laughed, embarrassed that he'd only really approached his brother because of his fear of never seeing him again. Yamato understood though, and he didn't laugh with Takeru. Instead he placed his cold hand on Takeru's shoulder, pressing heavy enough for Takeru to feel his touch through his thick coat.

"I'm not going anywhere just yet."

He said quietly and Takeru smiled, feeling the tiniest bit comforted. He nodded and relished the weight of the limb that rested upon him. Eventually he sensed Hikari's eyes upon them and realised her presence. His car door was still open and she sat with her hands tucked into her coat, patiently waiting as the cold slowly crawled towards her. Takeru looked back at her apologetically before addressing Yamato once more.

"I can't see you tomorrow. I'm working. But come to dinner on Saturday. We'll invite everyone and you can tell them about everything, too. They've all missed you too."

He skipped backwards towards the car as he spoke and Yamato raised his hand to wave him goodbye.

"Don't worry, I'll be there."

"Goodnight."

Takeru slid into his car and watched as Yamato strode towards the half lit hotel whilst blowing on his cold hands. He smiled and turned the heating to its maximum setting as an apology to Hikari for delaying their journey home.

"Well, I wasn't expecting all this when I woke up today."

He laughed and pulled out onto the nearly empty road, smiling to himself in an immature sort of way. Hikari strangely didn't acknowledge him and so when the road was clear he spared a second to glance at her. She had shifted in her seat to curl up beneath her padded coat and her eyes were thoughtfully downcast towards her hands that she held under her nose to warm them. He forced the smile from his face.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Oh?"

Takeru asked. She didn't answer as promptly as she had the previous question. During the space after the question had been asked and her reply Takeru had returned his full attention back to the road to carefully stop at a traffic light. When she finally did speak a silence came over the rest of the world.

"About Taichi."

"Oh."

* * *

_[1] welcome home_

_[2] I'm home._

* * *

_Remember what I said last time? He's in Japan now so everything in bold is said in English. Anyways, HELLO AGAIN! It's been a while. How are you? I have even more excuses this time. New house...no internet...for nearly a month. I KNOW! It is a piece of poo. I've had this pretty much typed up for a long time but with no way to upload it. I've been checking my emails by bringing my laptop to pubs but that doesn't mean that I can upload this in public without getting dodgy looks. But, the plus side is that while I've had no internet I've been able to get a head start on my next chapter. One third done, woohoo! And because it's a new Uni year I have nothing but introduction and warm up lectures for a while so I haven't got much to distract me to get it done. I've set myself a goal for two months this time. That seems like a safe bet. If all goes well maybe I could get it up in a month, but I don't want to sacrifice the quality._

_I know that this whole situation seems a bit rushed. Yamato's already meeting everyone again within his first few days, I know. But there's so much that needs to happen and I don't want to just write about the days where nothing happened. So I've sped it along. I've got so much planned. SO much. I've made a chronological plan to make sure that there aren't too many gaps in my writing and that I don't make things up as I go along. I have the whole story practically set out apart from the ending. I don't know whether to make it happy or sad. I guess that's just something I'll have to think about ;)_

_Please review. I LOVE hearing from you all. Tell me what you think about this chapter too. It's a little rushed in some places so maybe you could give me some advice. Can't wait to hear from you all._

**Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper**


	7. Chapter 7

**Money and Martyrdom**

* * *

Tokyo was as busy as always, and a morning walk was beginning to seem like a foolish notion as Yamato dodged another stubborn pedestrian that refused him access to walk in a straight line. But, at least the mid morning breeze woke him up properly. He'd desperately resisted sleeping beyond eight hours and had felt sluggish all morning until he'd gathered the courage to step out into the cold. His walk was aimless and lacking any sense of direction. He was so distracted he barely even noticed when the buttons of his coat slipped open, exposing his lightly dressed torso to a Japanese winter.

His mind had been orbiting the events of the previous night since he'd been conscious. It all felt so surreal and his lack of sleep had left his memories seeming like the remains of a dream. Of course they weren't, otherwise he wouldn't have needed a walk to calm his feelings of panic and terror. Being half conscious as he was when he'd been reunited with Takeru and his father he didn't really think about all the things that were in store for him now. And the offer of dinner! How could he ever think to accept it?! He'd truly doomed himself.

But,the thought of seeing Sora was nice. Their friendship had slowly fizzled out after Taichi and himself had officially come out to the gang. He wondered if she was still a tomboy and what career she'd fallen into. Mimi's life was also an object of intrigue. The last time he'd talked to her about her career she'd said that she wanted to find a handsome, foreign duke to marry who would whisk her away to his manor in the countryside. Although that idea didn't seem entirely implausible, Yamato considered that perhaps she may have changed her mind and decided to pursue a career for herself.

Then there was Jyou and Koushirou; two misfits whose lives he could happily make assumptions about. Kind hearted Jyou would be probably doctoring; maybe not a fully fledged doctor just yet but he'd be well on his way.

As for Koushirou, Yamato could only guess that it was something to do with electronics or computers. He was always known to be more than just savvy with computers. He was practically one of them by the way he stored information and talked in a sort of code that only those of a higher intelligence could decipher.

Then, there was Taichi.

Yamato had no assumptions about what kind of life he lived now. He hadn't thought about him long enough to do so. Of course the thought had provoked him, but he always worked to dismiss it before he began to dwell. He could only wish him well.

His wish to slow time had hardly worked for him so far, and the dreaded dinner was looming. He thought of maybe getting drunk beforehand. The fridge in his hotel stored miniature bottles with the perfect amount of alcohol to give him a bit of courage without making him arrogant. But, then again, what kind of impression would he make by arriving drunk at their first reunion in five years or so. They'd think that he didn't want to be there. Well...that was technically true, but he didn't want them to know that. That's just rude.

Yamato recognised that he'd made a loop around the city and was on the way to returning to his hotel room. The people were dispersing as he moved further away from the busy centre of the city and the shops gave way to apartment buildings and houses as he entered a more suburban area. Without so many tall buildings to block the wind Yamato felt the bitter cold and wrapped his coat around him, shutting away his exposed torso. It was colder than when he'd first arrived. It was just another reminder of what time of year it was and what he was missing back at his American home. Ken would be critically choosing a tree and teaching Yamato all about the American customs of Christmas. They'd drink warming drinks together and sit on the sofa with Butter, watching a cheesy Christmas special that they'd both light heartedly mock. Then Ken would get a call from his parents that he didn't want and Yamato would try his best to make him laugh while on the phone. They hadn't shared many holidays together, but it seemed now that they'd already set up a sort of tradition. He missed it. It was the first time he felt like part of a family since the divorce of his parents.

Never mind. Maybe, with all the changes he had witnessed, he had a chance to be a part of his real family. A sober father and an emotionally stable brother was a promising start to repair the bond that had been damaged. And so, he decided that maybe this dinner wouldn't be so bad. It was a difficult start to something possibly great, and getting drunk or running away from such an opportunity would be a bullet to the foot by his own hand.

* * *

Two knocks. It took a while for him to receive any response. Had he knocked loud enough? Should he do it again? Was there a doorbell he hadn't seen that he needed to ring? He clenched his fingers tighter around the neck of the bottle and saw a shadow approach the door through the window.

Takeru opened it slowly and revealed himself wearing a casual t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Yamato knew he'd over dressed. He'd hidden his button shirt under his leather jacket, but his suit slacks were still visible.

"You're a little early."

Yamato scratched his cheek and lifted the bottle of wine in offering.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't plan out my journey too well. Is it alright that I'm here early? I bear gifts."

Takeru fretfully accepted the bottle from him and tucked it under his arm, ushering his guest into the warmth of his home.

"Oh, thanks. Yeah, of course it's alright. Sora's running a little late though, so she's not here yet. But Jyou's here, and Mimi and-"

Hikari approached from behind and peered over his shoulder at Yamato with a giggle.

"Basically most of us. Why don't you just come in and see for yourself?"

"Good idea."

With the bottle out of his hands Yamato was free to untie the laces of his boots and slip out of them into a pair of guest slippers. Both Takeru and Hikari noticed how he took his time to change his shoes with care instead of typically stretching the leather to their limit to do the minimal amount of work. Upon stepping up onto the floor of the main hallway he even offered a bashful smirk, displaying his insecurities to the both of them with a simple expression.

"Everyone's in the living room. I'm just going to put this bottle in the kitchen."

Yamato nodded while Hikari took the bottle from Takeru and scampered off down the hall. He observed the house while Takeru lead the way to the living room. It was simple and decorated in a minimalist style, most probably by Hikari's suggestion. They'd done well for themselves. Well, the couple weren't officially earning at the moment, but the house looked expensive for what they must be paying to rent it.

He took a deep breath as Takeru stood beside a closed door, preparing to open it. He thought back to what Takeru and Hikari had said. Who was on the other side? She'd said most of the people were there. Who counted as most? Who should he expect?

Takeru, oblivious to his brother's nervousness casually opened the door and walked straight in with no hesitation.

"Look who's here."

He announced and stepped aside. Yamato slowly entered like an adopted dog in a new home. He was cautious.

Everyone stood up upon his entry.

It was the same silence a prostitute would meet upon entering a packed church. All eyes turned to him with neither joy nor anger in their expressions; only shock. Yamato stood frozen, allowing his old friends to analyse all of his appearance until the most obvious person made the first move to make contact with him

"Yamato!"

Mimi, in a cream silk shirt and pencil skirt, weaved between the statues to throw her arms around his neck. After recovering from her body being thrown into him, Yamato uncertainly returned the embrace, placing his hand on the small of her back. He could feel the differences in her body after only a few years. She had to curve her spine to embrace him fully now that her chest had expanded, and Yamato was uncomfortably conscious of where his hands were in relation to the smooth hill of her rear as he felt the tip of the arch beneath his fingers. He pushed her away too soon for her liking, but her smile was bright and sincere when she looked up at him with a stubborn hand still clenched in the fabric over his shoulder.

"It's so good to see you! Sit down here. You look so well!"

She chatted on and lead him to a seat next to hers in the centre of the eyes. He observed each one of them as he followed after her, but found there to be fewer than he'd felt on him when he entered. Jyou and Koushirou were the only other occupants of the living room and Yamato felt himself deflate in relief. Once he was seated everyone else slowly lowered themselves into their seats as well, shifting in uncertainty much like he did. He nervously chuckled and kept his gaze low.

"Thanks, so do you."

He said quietly. The sound of his voice broadened her smile tenfold.

"Oh I'm so glad you think so. You came at the wrong time, though. I haven't had time to get my hair cut. Hikari just called me up while I was at work and told me you were back. I nearly spilt a whole pot of hot coffee down my designer dress. I was so shocked!"

She placed a hand on his knee and laughed. Hers seemed to be the only voice in existence. Everyone else remained seated merely looking on at the reunion that they should be a part of. Takeru and Hikari remained in the doorway monitoring their actions. After a while of Mimi telling Yamato more about how glad she was to see him and commenting on his healthy appearance she turned to look at the others in the room.

"Guys, it's Yamato! Why is no one saying anything? It's always me doing the talking."

She prompted and everyone shuffled in their seats, expecting someone else to take their turn to speak. Eventually Koushirou nervously sat up in his seat and stuttered his first words to Yamato.

"I-I apologise for my delayed reaction. I appear to still be in the late stages of shock."

Yamato smiled and tilted his head.

"That's fine, I guess. I'm still in shock myself. How are you?"

Koushirou opened and closed his mouth several times before his reply. He felt the urge to ramble bubble over his lips. He wanted to tell his friend about his job, his private research, his past and present projects and the woman at his work that he finally gathered the courage to approach with a romantic proposition. But, instead, he replied simply.

"Spectacular."

Yamato smiled warmly, knowing very well that Koushirou was summarising for his sake.

"Good to hear. What about you, Jyou?"

Jyou immediately sat upright in the dining room chair that had been brought into the living room for him.

"Great."

He squeaked before blushing and spluttering at the prepubescent pitch of his voice. The first to laugh was Yamato, which put a stop to anyone else who was about to laugh as well. It had been a long time since they'd heard him laugh with such sincerity - longer than the time that he'd spent apart from them. And with his amusement most everyone's uncertainty left them. Yamato had certainly changed, but not in ways that would upset anyone.

Mimi was the next to giggle and the last was Jyou, whose head was lowered sheepishly to hide the pink in his cheeks.

The tension had not entirely left the room. It still made itself known during short silences, stutters and looks that communicated more than the eyes could express. But, at least people were beginning to talk; mostly Mimi to Yamato, but it was a good start and it saved everyone else from struggling to find things to talk about. She asked questions with only a sentence pause for Yamato to answer and took it upon herself to tell him about what had been going on in all of their lives, leaving the others space to only nod in agreement with whatever she had been saying.

After a while the sound of the doorbell resounded throughout the house. Mimi didn't even falter while speaking, and no one else took genuine notice of it either. Hikari was the first to acknowledge it, sharing a glance with Takeru who sat next to her.

"That's Sora, I'm guessing. I'll be right back."

She hopped out of her chair, barely noticed by the now happily conversing group of friends. Upon opening the front door a dishevelled red head met her. Sora straightened her hair that had been ravaged by the wind and casually stepped into the low entryway of the home.

"Sorry I'm late. I brought wine. Three bottles will be enough, right?"

Hikari took the plastic bag of dark bottles with a slight jolt at the unexpected weight. Meanwhile Sora, who felt comfortable in the home as a common guest, began unfastening her coat to hang on one of the hooks by the door. Hikari waited next to her, prepared to escort her to the living room.

"Yes, that's more than enough. Yamato's already here by the way."

Sora nearly missed the peg when she reached to drop her coat onto it.

"He's here?! Oh damn. I thought I'd have time to prepare. Is he in the living room?"

She rushed to finish taking off her shoes and hopped up onto the wooden floor of the house, straightening her dress and tucking her hair behind her ears. Hikari nodded with a smile and moved the bag to hang on her arm.

"Yep. Just go right on in. He's not dangerous or anything."

"I know, I know. I'm just a little nervous. What's he like?"

Hikari laughed and stepped aside to allow Sora to walk past.

"Just go and see him. I'll put the bottles in the kitchen"

"Okay, okay."

With Hikari standing right at her back Sora felt that she had no choice but to move forward towards the living room. It was difficult to draw a satisfying breath with the tightness she felt in her throat. As she approached the entrance she heard a voice that seemed to pierce right through her chest.

"Well, I'm no James Dean, but I think I'm pretty well liked. I get paid well enough to perform."

"James Dean?"

"Never mind."

She heard him laugh lightly. She felt an old jealousy rise in her. Everything about him had always been so effortlessly charming. She almost wished that he didn't appear as well as he sounded. Almost. She'd never truly wish such a thing. At heart she hoped that he was healthy and happy. She'd never been able to dislike him enough to wish him misfortune. She only ever did it in private, far away from him, where she could hide her guilty desires.

She brushed a lock of hair from her face, hoping that she looked good enough to impress him, and sauntered in as casually as possible. Her friends were all sitting around him, listening intently with admiring expressions. He looked well. He looked healthy and handsome. He was smiling.

And she was glad for it.

"H-Hello."

She announced, not realising how meek and uncertain she sounded. Yamato turned to look at her first, with curious eyes. As soon as he recognised her he stood up hurriedly.

"Hi."

He smiled. She stepped forward and gladly embraced him.

"It's nice to see you again."

"You, too."

It was brief and slightly awkward, and although both noticed this they pulled back and warmly chuckled when they met each others' face in close proximity. Meanwhile the others looked on, concerned by Sora's sudden shyness.

"Well, don't let me interrupt. Finish telling your story. I wouldn't want you to have to repeat it."

"I've repeated it twice already. It wouldn't make much of a difference if I had to again."

He laughed and sat back down, inviting her to sit next to him by the way he shuffled along to make space for her.

They all sat and talked casually. It was almost like old times, except that a grassy field had been replaced with a warm and comfortable living room and the drinks were legal. Once everyone had gotten comfortable and conversation was flowing Hikari brought out several plates of homemade snacks for her guests to pick out and with everyone's first bite they exclaimed how impressed they were with her skills.

A while into the evening, after draining the first bottle of wine, Yamato subtly leant over in his seat to lowly speak to Takeru.

"Sorry, uh...where's your bathroom?"

"Oh, it's just at the end of the hall on the left. Could you grab another bottle of wine from the kitchen on your way back? They're in the cupboard by the sink."

Takeru asked, ignoring Hikari's look of warning that he would ask something of a guest in their house.

"Will do. I'll be right back."

He stood up with a slight wobble after being seated for so long and smiled apologetically at who he passed as he left the room. As soon as he was gone Mimi piped up with a girlish smile

"He's changed so much, hasn't he?"

"It's inevitable. The American climate is said to deviate a lot more dramatically than here."

Mimi rolled her eyes at Koushirou's interjection.

"I'm not just talking about his tan. I mean...his atmosphere. I can't explain it. It's like..."

"It's like how he used to be when we were kids."

Sora finished for her and Mimi nodded energetically, grateful that someone else felt the same way.

"Exactly! This is just like one of our old reunions now."

Everyone agreed without words. Yamato certainly had returned to his old boyish self. His smile was youthful and coy, his banter was slightly roguish and suggestive and his mannerisms were relaxed and nonchalant, as though he were once again fulfilling his role as the cool kid of the group. A life in him had returned and spread around the room, making them all feel as though they were young once again.

Mimi looked around the room, though, feeling as though there was something slightly off. There was a piece of the usual atmosphere missing. The playfulness that usually sparked most of the conversation and laughter wasn't present, and all because this liveliness stemmed from someone that wasn't there.

"All that's missing is Taichi. Why couldn't he come?"

She turned to Hikari with the innocent question and regretted it soon after once she saw the smile dissolve from her face.

"Well...um..."

Takeru's hand instantly went to her back as a soothing gesture. Although it was indeed a comfort, she still was unable to form an explanation. Sora, after finishing the final swig of her glass of wine, lowered it to the table with slightly more force than seemed natural and answered in her place.

"He wasn't invited."

Mimi swerved her head to look at Sora's unsettlingly blank expression. Mimi's brows were raised past her perfectly coiffed fringe and her hands were clenched in her skirt. She turned immediately back to Hikari.

"You didn't invite him?! Why?"

Hikari guiltily pushed Takeru's hand away from her and rearranged herself in her seat. She kept her eyes on the glass that she held delicately in her hands when she answered. Her voice was low and regretful.

"Well, we thought that it might not be the right time for him to see Yamato."

"So, we're keeping him a secret? That's just...it's cruel!"

Sora jumped in, contradicting Mimi's high pitched, wailing tone with her own low and calm reply.

"It's not cruel. We don't know how he'd react. Yamato's not staying, Mimi."

Mimi rocketed out of her seat, spinning on the balls of her feet to make sure Sora got the frontal view of her outrage. Her blusher was no longer visible now that her entire face matched the scarlet that she had so meticulously applied to her cheeks.

"That doesn't matter! Taichi should still know!"

The room went silent. Sora didn't look Mimi in the face at all. In fact, everyone's eyes seemed to be occupied by something apparently far more interesting behind her. She turned around abruptly as soon as she realised, smoothing down any hair that had strayed while she had temporarily lost her temper.

Yamato stood at the door with an indecipherable expression. He held the unopened wine bottle limply in his hand, with his other uncertainly pressed against the door frame.

"I was going to ask where your cork screw is, but I see that I've interrupted something important."

He didn't sound at all apologetic. In fact, Takeru would say that he meant his politeness to be sarcastic since he knew his brother so well. Sora shook her head.

"Don't worry about-"

"He should worry about it!"

"Mimi!"

Mimi abruptly sat down, still fuming at her recent discovery. She knew that Taichi had been having trouble recently, but she had not seen it firsthand. She hardly knew that the decision had been made for his own good. All she could think about was the torture he put himself through, pining over Yamato's absence in his life. She edged away from Sora as far as possible on the sofa, pressing her hip against the arm and turning her body away with a huff. Sora only sighed sadly.

Hikari and Takeru needed only to share a glance before standing up in unison.

"I'll uncork the wine."

She mumbled and briskly walked forward to take the bottle from Yamato's hand. She brushed past him to the kitchen and Takeru, who had been following behind, took hold of Yamato's arm and dragged him along with them. They left a silence in the room.

Yamato allowed himself to be pulled along to the kitchen. He kept silent and leant against the counter next to Takeru while Hikari fetched the cork screw from one of the many drawers. Takeru and Hikari were both solemn in their expressions and Yamato could only wait in nervousness for them to speak. Hikari left the corkscrew on the counter next to the bottle, but she didn't bother with any action after that. Instead she turned to Yamato slowly and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

"You've obviously realised that Taichi isn't here. It wasn't because he didn't want to see you."

"Oh?"

"We didn't invite him. He's been...not well."

By the way that she hesitated Yamato knew that there was more to the story than him being just 'unwell'. He felt a tightening in his stomach and wasn't sure if it was out of worry for Taichi or for himself. He gripped the counter behind him and looked to Takeru to see if he would reveal anything more in his face than Hikari did.

"Is he okay?"

"That's debatable."

Takeru scoffed before tilting his head apologetically to Hikari for interrupting. She continued with no change to the low, regretful tone in her voice.

"We're not sure if he should know that you're here."

Yamato crossed his arms, becoming frustrated with only receiving pieces of information.

"Okay. So, he's 'not well'...because of me?"

"Not-...I can't put it like that. It's no one's fault. Things have just sort of been...building up. You saw the start of it before you left and...well, this is what's happened since then. He's a different person. If you saw him now, it wouldn't be Taichi. So we thought, at least until he's fixed up a bit, that you shouldn't see him."

"But that's not a final decision."

Takeru added on abruptly. Hikari looked at him and nodded slowly.

"No. It's not."

The couple held eye contact for quite a while as though a silent conversation were occurring between them. Yamato raised a hand to his forehead, feeling a pulsing pain begin to grow from the base of his skull.

"Sorry. I'm a little confused. What do you want me to do?"

They both looked at him pointedly before Hikari turned and finally twisted the screw into the cork of the bottle.

"Well, what _could_ you do?"

She said casually and punctuated her question by extracting the cork from the bottle with a swift pop. She left the used screw as it was on the counter and picked up the bottle delicately but with a certain stiffness to her hand. Yamato saw only the profile of her serene expression. She made it sound like it was a deep, philosophical question that was left to be only answered by self actualisation.

"What?"

Yamato screwed up his face, spoiling the sense of drama that she had created by leaving her words hanging. Hikari made sure to hold Yamato's eyes with a wise stare as she left the room to bring the fresh supply of wine to her fellow guests. Yamato stared after her as she left, gaping with unformed words and a disturbed twist to his face. He'd never received a look like that from her before. It wasn't accusing, but she was certainly suggesting something. She wanted him to connect the dots, but, as much as he tried, Yamato just came up with a nonsensical mess. He turned to Takeru who still stood silently at his side.

Takeru, feeling like he needed to do something to avoid the conversation being so intense, began to scrape the plates from dinner. It occupied him enough to begin to speak without thinking too much of Yamato's tense, irritated stance. With his arms still crossed Yamato stepped away from the counter and cocked his hip to passively wait for an explanation. Takeru gave it to him hesitantly.

"What Hikari wants to say is that...she thinks that you could help him. You two were best friends before anything else and you know him better than anyone. Even she admits that."

Yamato uncrossed his arms with a look of almost fear. He stepped forward again to capture Takeru's attention, distraught and unsure in the way that he spoke. Irritation had left him.

"Takeru, I'm sorry. I'm no counsellor or...or anything to him anymore. Even when we were close as anything I couldn't help him. He crushed me completely. I won't be dragged into that again."

Takeru dropped the empty plates into the sink and turned on the tap.

"We're not asking you to _fix_ him. We just want you to be there for him again."

"I can't. I'm not staying."

Takeru growled and turned to his brother, frustrated that his words were unable to convey what he meant, and more so that Yamato was protesting before fully understanding the situation.

"I'm not asking you to stay. I mean 'be there' like support him. You're the one closest to understanding what he's doing. I might have dabbled in drugs and partying and such, but you've been under it all and come back up, so you know what to do, right? You know how to handle an overdose or calm him down when he gets hysterical. Hikari and I, we just tend to panic."

Yamato had begun to pace, feeling this restless tightening in his chest. The desire to run. God, he felt so guilty for it. He pictured his old self, brushing hair from Taichi's face while he threw up, changing cum stained sheets while he was blacked out on the floor, feeding him water like a baby while he had a drug induced panic attack. His muscles tensed all over. They seemed to want to compress him and crush his body until he was nothing but a ball of compacted bone and tissue. He raked a hand through his hair shakily.

"Shit, Takeru. This is a lot to ask of me. I can't take care of him again. He didn't listen to me last time. He didn't accept my help, why would you think he would this time around? Why would this time be any different?"

"Well..._you're_ different for a start."

Another cryptic answer. But it shocked him no less. Takeru's eyes were piercing. He turned off the tap at the perfect time to leave the dishes to soak. He left the kitchen much in the way that Hikari did, commanding Yamato to think about what had been said before replying. Yamato didn't follow him out of the kitchen. He stared at the murky water of the sink and pressed his hands against his hips.

"God, why don't people talk straight, anymore?"

He muttered to himself and felt that he'd been left alone for a reason.

"Is he okay?"

Hikari asked Takeru once he'd sat back in his seat next to her. He released a worried sigh and a showed her a smile before resting a hand on her knee carefully, squeezing lightly to release some of the pent up tension that was left after having such a serious conversation.

"Give him a minute."

It took Yamato more than just a minute. While he kept to himself in the kitchen, mulling and moping, the conversation started up again with the rest of the group. Mimi and Sora eventually forgave each other without exchanging words and Mimi shuffled back from the end of the sofa to engage with everyone.

Conversation wasn't strained. They were used to a lack of Taichi's or Yamato's presence and with the wine now flowing, lubricating mouths and throats, words were more freely shared. Despite the raised volume of his friends conversing, Yamato wasn't at all distracted. He stood still in the kitchen with the top half of his body draped over the counter. He stood there long enough for his legs to ache and every so often he would readjust his centre of gravity to offer them temporary relief.

The food he'd just eaten seemed to mix and bounce in his stomach the more he thought about things. It felt like there were two people living within him, both shouting and tugging at his insides to try and influence his decision. One was strong hearted and noble, commanding that he do what is supposedly right by staying and helping Taichi. He had played a hand in his old lover's downfall, after all. The other person was meek and childlike. All that he asked is to not be hurt again. He wanted freedom. He wanted to run.

What he thought about most was Takeru's final statement.

He was different? How? He knew that he _felt_ different. He knew that he looked it as well. But he couldn't really say that he had completely changed. He was still a bit of a martyr; still forgave too easily in most cases and worked too hard. He still wrote with his right hand, went to bed and woke up later than he should and craved sweet buns on a regular basis. But, these were all inconsequential. What were the changes? What made him so different that Takeru thought that he could conjure miracles as he was now?

Unconsciously he found himself spreading his hands out on the counter and his eyes dropped to trace them. They looked bigger than he remembered them being. His fingers were thicker too, and rougher. They looked like strong hands, belonging to a man that had used them to their highest ability.

He found himself standing back from the counter, still engrossed in observing each crease, dip and arch of his hands. He turned them over, clenching and unclenching them, while his face seemed to slacken from its confused, tight expression.

Are these the differences that Takeru noticed? Did he look stronger? Did he look wiser? Were these changes in his appearance applicable to himself as a person? Was he truly stronger or wiser, or did his aging body deceive his poor brother?

His final decision didn't come in the form of an epiphany. It was more like an act of surrender. He came to realise that he'd already retreated to as far as he could, but the war still waited for him. Taichi wouldn't stop existing if he were to ignore him and run away again.

Takeru heard the light footsteps coming down the corridor first and when he fell quiet the others did as well and all turned to look to the doorway.

Like he would do when he confronted his teachers in high school, Yamato grinded his foot into the wooden floor and brushed his nose casually, looking out the window while he spoke in a cool tone.

"Alright."

Hikari hid here miniscule smile in her wine glass. Takeru slyly arched his brow and placed his glass on the table in a smooth motion.

"What do you mean 'alright'?"

Yamato shrugged, to busy looking at the floor to see Takeru's face break into a smug grin.

"I mean alright, alright! I'll...do what I can. But I'm not going to make any promises."

"About what? Do what?"

Mimi jumped in. Yamato had forgotten that the others were present. And now that he looked around, he saw that they were all apparently interested. Mimi was the most obvious, flicking her wide eyes back and forth between himself and Takeru. Jyou and Koushirou, who seemed to have somewhat stepped into the background, were more conservative in their curiosity. Both tried to disguise their intrigue by looking around the room, but it was the effort they put into avoiding all eye contact that gave them away. Yamato sighed and ruffled his hair, feeling bashful now that attention was placed on him.

Hikari eventually spoke up since she was the one that mainly decided what was acceptable to do or say where Taichi was concerned. It wouldn't do any harm for the other's to know what they had planned.

"We're going to see Taichi."

The celebration was Mimi's silent, smug smile that she hid by pretending to clean the edges of her lipstick with her thumb. Sora took a gulp from her wineglass and avoided Hikari's eyes while Jyou and Koushirou shared a look of uncertainty. No one was entirely sure how to react. Yamato stood at the edge of the room awkwardly, not knowing what he should do now that he'd made his declaration. Hikari picked up the bottle of wine on the table and gestured it towards him.

"Drink?"

He broke into a smile and nodded quietly. He took his seat casually while Hikari generously filled his glass.

* * *

Yamato looked up at the apartment building they approached. Its muted grey colour and crumbling cubic form spoke of desolation and hard luck. No window fulfilled its function with the amount of dirt that caked them and the only life he saw was one lone, rugged male despondently sucking a cigarette from his balcony. He hoped that perhaps they'd drive by it, but when Takeru flicked on his indicator from the driver's seat Yamato slumped back in concern.

A single figure lingered in front of the entrance, following the approaching car with anticipating eyes. He bent his body to look through the windows when the car slowed, and bounded forward with a large grin once it had come to a final halt.

"Yamato!"

Yamato backed away from the window slightly when a face was pressed up against it. For his own safety he decided to exit the car from the opposite side, risking being hit by a car over being tackled by the energetic young man.

His hair had been cut shorter and was tamer, hardly ridding him of any of the boyish charm that he held in his face. He still jumped around like an excited child when Yamato approached. As soon as his foot hit the pavement the man threw himself at him, nearly pushing him back into the road.

"I can't believe you're back!"

Yamato found himself laughing and smiling as well, despite the constriction of his organs while arms where tightly wrapped around him. No one else had really greeted him with such enthusiasm. He was getting fed up with uncertainties and so Daisuke's bold approach was a refreshing change.

"Hey, Daisuke."

Daisuke excitedly stepped back and beamed his bright eyes at Yamato's face.

"They said you were back and I didn't believe them. Why wasn't I invited to the party? I wanted to hang out with him, too!"

Takeru exited the car and stepped between Yamato and Daisuke to take control of the situation.

"You have time to fawn over him later. Right now we need to get serious."

"Right."

And then, Daisuke became someone completely different. He was mature and his suddenly hard expression was sobering for everyone. Takeru and Hikari and approached the building determinedly and Daisuke followed, leaving Yamato the only one questioning the sudden jump in the atmosphere. He followed behind everyone in a sort of daze towards the main entrance. Hikari produced a key and upon opening the door passed it to Takeru to hold it open for everyone. He gave Yamato a slightly guilty look when he walked past him.

It looked worse from the inside. The elevator was broken and on the walls of the stairwell Yamato thought that the marks and scratches might have been made from bullets. A dog was howling several flights up. Upon reaching the desired floor Hikari pulled the sleeve of her jumper over her hand so that she could pull open the door that lead to the corridor and Daisuke also nudged it with his elbow instead of directly touching it.

The walls were so thin that with every door they passed their ears invaded the apartment unintentionally. Finally Hikari stopped outside of a particular door and Daisuke stepped up beside her as though a beast were to emerge that he needed to protect her from. She knocked firmly and pressed her face right up to the wood to speak through it.

"Taichi! Open up! It's us!"

There was no reply and Yamato thought that maybe they'd been wrong to think that Taichi was at home. But, Takeru didn't relent. He knocked harder on the door several more times before raising his voice in a threatening tone.

"Taichi! You know Daisuke will break the door down again!"

Signs of life finally began to reveal themselves. Through the door they could hear a low voice hissing curses and bare feet slapping against wood. As the noise approached them they heard miscellaneous crashes and bumps from a clumsy body until the latch was lifted. Yamato tensed and edged behind Daisuke and Hikari who stood in front of him. His stomach had dropped so low he worried that he might shit it out when he finally saw Taichi. The door swung open faster then he'd expected and the top of a messy head of dark hair greeted him along with a stained shirt and obviously irritated growl. Yamato was shot with cold and it froze him. All stopped. His mind plummeted into silence, his heart shrivelled, lungs deflated with one long, echoing breathe that was so thick he could almost see it dribble from his lips. He squeezed his hands into fists when he caught his fingers shivering.

The brown hair was flicked back and a face was revealed. Tanned, angular, defined; it was most of what he remembered it to be. But that was all. It lacked the rest, and what it was lacking had not been substituted for. There was no luminescent quality to his eyes, no colour in his cheeks other than a slight tinge of grey and even his lips were cracked and dry, lacking moisture. Yamato didn't feel the flutter in his chest like he used to when he looked at Taichi. Taichi was lifeless to the point that Yamato couldn't even pity him. Instead he found himself feeling slightly angry that Taichi didn't care enough to look after the body that Yamato had loved. He'd abused it, neglected it, tainted it, and it all showed on his face with every wrinkle, dry patch, healing wound and slightly sunken cheek. Yamato had left that body in Taichi's care, and he had failed to look after it. He didn't release his hands from their clenched position. He tightened his fist if anything. He'd mostly calmed down otherwise, now mentally preparing himself.

At first Taichi was only awake enough to notice Hikari standing before him. His vision swayed as he lolled his tired head the hung from his neck. Eventually he lifted his eyes and held her firmly in a cold, uncaring stare that frightened Yamato who hadn't seen such a look before.

"What the fuck is your prob-..."

It was Taichi's eyes that had betrayed him first. They had caught something that his mind had yet to. It was a colour that he was unfamiliar with. Wait...no...not unfamiliar. He knew it. He saw it more than anything else when he dreamed. But he was awake. Why was it still here?

It was magnetising. He rolled his head to see what glowed. What would ever shine such gold in his life? What would dare try to imitate such light?

He was not hit with cold when he saw Yamato. He was hit with fire.

* * *

"_Yagami! Ishida! Break it up! Stop this, right now! Yagami!"_

_The young teacher was hardly experienced enough to understand how to deal with this problem. For the moment she mainly tried her best to hold the two young boys apart while the surrounding children seemed to be cheering them on. She freed one of her hands from holding the wrist of one of the boys so that she could order the surrounding children back to their classrooms, but that only left the infant rebel with the opportunity to fit in a final blow._

"_Yagami Taichi, don't you dare!"_

_She screeched and grabbed a hold of the boy's collar before he could land his fist into the face of the other child that struggled to escape her. Several other teachers had now rushed onto the playground to deal with the other children. One of the male teachers that saw her struggling also ran to take Yamato from her grip to better restrain him. An onlooker might have mistaken the children for foreigners or animals by the way they completely ignored the commands from their authorities and still desperately tried to claw for each other._

_The usually mild mannered homeroom teacher gripped the forearms of a young Taichi and shook him to get his attention._

"_Now, what is all of this about? What is serious enough to resort to violence over?"_

_Taichi didn't turn to look at her. His attempts to throw her off had hardly weakened and he snarled his reply in the face of Yamato._

"_He called me stupid!"_

"_Because he called me a weirdo!"_

"_I didn't call you a weirdo! I said that you act like a weirdo!"_

"_Same thing, dumbass!"_

_Yamato growled and managed to free an arm from the male teacher holding him back, and with it he scratched at the image of Taichi's face before him. His arm that was still restrained was almost ripped from its socket due to his absolute determination to exact revenge. Taichi similarly barked like a wild dog and kicked out his legs when he found his hands pulled behind his back and effectively useless._

_The male teacher pulled Yamato back by his wrist and grabbed the boy's collar, raising him slightly onto his toes so that he wasn't able to kick without losing his balance._

"_Ishida, you should never call someone that! Especially one of your friends. Apologise, right now."_

"_No! And he's not my friend!"_

_Yamato turned his anger onto his superior, digging his nails into the man's hand in his efforts to escape. The teacher did not relent. Instead he managed to grab the top of Yamato's ear and twisted it, exacting a painful yet harmless punishment. Yamato momentarily bent over in submission with hopes to lessen the pain._

"_Apologise, Ishida, or else, you will spend lunchtime with me for the next month."_

_Yamato fell still, growling at the floor while the fingers on his ear still held tightly and twisted._

"_Why do I have to apologise? He deserved it! He's the one that started it anyway."_

"_Alright, then, both of you apologise to each other."_

_Taichi squeaked incredulously, pausing in his struggles to stare his teacher dead in the face._

"_What?! But he-"_

"_Yagami."_

_His tone was final. Taichi frowned at his feet. The woman holding his arms squeezed them in warning when a minute passed and he still said nothing. Finally he looked up at the pale boy in front of him with a stiff jaw. His eyes spoke of hunger for blood._

"_Sorry..."_

_He bit out, staring through Yamato's eyes and into his skull. His tightened expression slackened soon after and his lips split into a grin with his final words._

"_...Ishi-chan[1]."_

"_Shut your fucking mouth!"_

_Yamato's reaction was so sudden that he was easily able to rip himself out of his restraints while his teacher had foolishly believed that the fight was over. Yamato launched himself forward, leaping, with no part of him touching the floor, towards the smug and, to him, hideous face of his classmate, Yagami Taichi. Taichi was expecting the assault just as much as anyone else. The tackle ripped him out of his teacher's arms and sent him slamming into the gravel. He could not block Yamato's fist in time and received its full power on his still bruising cheek._

"_Ishida! Stop it!"_

_Her voice sounded truly horrified at the sight of the young boys fighting as though they truly wanted to kill each other. She had never known that young children were capable of such violence since this was the first time in her career that she'd ever had to physically restrain fighting students._

"_That's it! We're calling your parents!"_

_Taichi was the only one of them that seemed to flinch, but upon Yamato's next kick he forgot to care about the matter. It took two more teachers to rip them apart and pull them by their collars, like wild dogs, to the Principal's office, where phone calls where already being made._

* * *

"Son of a BITCH!"

Taichi used the doorjamb as a catapult to throw himself at Yamato. Without warning he grabbed him by the throat in a vengeful claw and slammed his head into the wall behind him. Hikari only had enough time to step out of his way and cry out in horror.

For someone who wasn't expecting to be rammed into a wall and strangled, Yamato recovered quickly enough and was able to block Taichi's first brutal punch with his forearm. All the while, the hand around his neck was still persistent...and tight - _frighteningly_ tight. Vaguely he heard Hikari trying to stop him as best she could without getting hurt.

"Stop it! Taichi, get off of him! Stop!"

Her efforts were disappointingly wasted. She could only watch as Yamato fought off her brother's vicious assault. Daisuke wanted to jump in. He counted every opportunity that he had to intervene and he let each one of them pass with only a small flinch. It was now that he saw the fire in his senpai that he thought had died. Taichi's eyes may have been bright with anger, but at least there was life in him to have that anger. It was intimidating to see his raw strength resurface.

Takeru, however, was not as mesmerised by Taichi and more fearful for his brother's life when he saw how red his face was and how white the skin of his neck became beneath Taichi's fingers. He didn't mean to push Hikari aside as he did, but his instincts took over to fight for his brother.

He lunged forward after his hands and gripped at Taichi's shirt to pull him off. He'd only managed to pull the clothing off his shoulders before Taichi swiped at him with an elbow and threw him back

Yamato eventually stabbed Taichi in the stomach with the heel of his shoe and freed his windpipe. He barely savoured the reactivation of his lungs and instead took the chance to gain the upper hand. While Taichi was bent over, trying to catch his breath, Yamato hooked his arm around his neck and held Taichi in a chokehold without the intention of trying to strangle him. All he wanted to do was hold Taichi still long enough for him to calm down.

There was a short while when everyone believed that it might be over. Taichi had punched all he could at Yamato's back and stomach and still hadn't found freedom. His negligence towards his physical health had left him as only a fraction of the glorious form he had once been. The most he could do was throw his weight into Yamato when his footing was firm enough and push him into the wall. The grunts and sharp breaths reassured him that he was causing him pain at least, even though he wasn't released.

Yamato's lungs were crushed as Taichi repeatedly threw him into the wall. Takeru had decided to stand back now, thinking that his brother probably had better control of the situation. Neither of them reacted quickly enough when Taichi rammed a lucky elbow into Yamato's gut. Painfully winded Yamato's hold around Taichi loosened, giving him the opportunity to wrestle free and aim a rock breaking punch into Yamato's face with a primal roar.

Yamato didn't bounce back as quickly after that final blow. He bent over in pain, struggling to breathe and Taichi took a step away to watch him writhe. Takeru rushed forward the moment he noticed the small amount of blood pool in the corner of Yamato's lips. He led his brother to lean against the wall opposite the open door that Taichi had now hurried through while Hikari made her final plea.

"Taichi, please!"

He turned to her with a dark expression; one that he had never shown to her before. All objections fell silent when he spoke.

"Get him out of here before I break his fucking face."

Yamato was the only one that didn't jump when the door was slammed shut with rattling force. His ears were still ringing so he didn't pick up on the entire force of it. Before turning around to him he noticed Hikari wipe under her eyes with her thumb and sniff.

"You okay?"

She approached him to take a look at his bleeding lip and gently moved Takeru aside who was still fussing over him. Yamato didn't allow her to get to close. He gently and slowly lead her by her shoulder to stand next to Takeru and did the same to lead Daisuke away from to door. He approached it as though it was the true foe. His breathing was still shaky, but his voice carried strongly to the man on the other side.

"I'm not leaving, Taichi. Come out here and face me."

That voice. It made Taichi's insides curl up and quiver. The air around him suddenly became a lot thinner. He barely managed a breath for his aggressive retort.

"Fu-...Fuck off and die!"

He'd been leaning against the door to start but jumped away from it when Yamato spoke. The wood was so thin he felt the voice as though it had been whispered into his ear. He no longer felt his bruises. All blood had flooded straight to his heart and filled it so that it became a raised lump on his chest. He felt those next three loud knocks on the door with his whole body.

"Say that to my face, you fucking coward!"

As soon as he'd spoken Yamato edged away from the door, spreading his arms so that the others backed away as well. They all heard the shuffled feet and the indignant mutter.

"I'm the coward?"

The door was once again thrown open and slammed into the opposite wall, the handle almost embedding itself into the drywall. Taichi stood there, eyes wide and glowing, in silence. He took a tense pause, breathing heavily through his teeth while stabbing Yamato in the eyes with his own intense stare. His voice doubled in volume and his nails on the door began to penetrate the thick layers of paint.

"I'm the coward?! You're the only coward here! How dare you try and make me out to be someone like you, you fucking hypocrite!"

Yamato didn't respond in absolutely any way, though the others behind him looked fearful for their lives. Yamato stood calm. He lowered his arms from their protective position and took a steady, confident step in.

"Are you going to let us in or not?"

Taichi scoffed and hissed in rage and confusion. He didn't know how to respond. Weren't they just arguing a second ago? What just happened? Why did he open the door again? Why didn't he just ignore them like he always did?

With his realisation he unfurled his hands and his breathing slowed. Yamato's serene and focused eyes were hypnotic and Taichi found his own eyes drooping submissively. He stepped to the side, opening the view to his apartment for everyone.

* * *

_Taichi sat, still sniffling, in his chair with the page only half filled with his indecipherable hand written essay on the event that had occurred. He'd at least gotten further than Yamato, sat on the opposite side of the room, who hadn't even bothered to start. Even with the teacher gone Taichi didn't care to start fighting again. The Principal had already warned him of what lay in store for him if he did, and it was not a punishment that he could take lightly._

_After a while he dropped his pencil and raised a hand to his arm. A sharp pain still throbbed there from a circular mark where a young's boy's teeth had been embedded. He rubbed it soothingly, smearing saliva on it to take the sting away. But, when the pain persisted he turned around in his seat to glare accusingly at Yamato who was using his pencil to pick the dirt from under his nails. It took at least two minutes of his cold stare to get Yamato to acknowledge him, and even then the boy did nothing but shrug his shoulders and look back to his hands. Taichi eventually found the nerve to raise his voice in the silent classroom._

"_You didn't have to bite me."_

_Yamato raised his brow and crossed his arms, dropping his pencil with a loud clutter onto the desk._

"_You pulled my hair."_

"_That's because you kicked!"_

"_You slapped me first!"_

_Taichi spun back around in his chair with a huff once he realised that arguing was pointless. When he thought back on the fight he realised that although he could justify every blow so could Yamato. He barely seemed to recall the start of the fight. The only distinctive thing was the end of it, when they were dragged to the classroom to sit in silence until their parents arrived. He didn't actually get to speak to his mum, but from what he could barely hear while the principle was on the phone she didn't sound happy._

_Out of the corner of his eye he spared another look to Yamato, wondering if he was thinking something similar. He'd never met the other boy's parents; never even seen them, actually._

_Yamato was slumped back in his chair, rubbing the back of his hand over a particularly red part of his cheek. Taichi felt the slightest bit of guilt run through him. He'd always been told that it was never right to hit someone. He'd never had to before. Yamato was the first person he'd ever felt the desire to strike._

"_I'm sorry for calling you a weirdo."_

_He mumbled._

"_Huh?"_

"_I said that I'm sorry for calling you a weirdo!_

"_Whatever."_

_That's what annoyed him; Yamato's aloofness. Whenever Taichi had tried to talk to him in the past the boy would always ignore him or answer with a single word without even looking at him. No one had ever been so...dismissive of him. His open and friendly nature had always warmed the same reaction from whoever he engaged. Taichi stiffened his lip, trying hard not to respond aggressively._

"_I was being serious this time. I didn't know you'd be upset."_

_Yamato scoffed and rolled his head to look out the window._

"_Why wouldn't I be?"_

"_I thought you already knew that you were a bit weird."_

_Yamato lurched up in his seat with a scowl, finally turning to face his classmate._

"_I'm not weird!"_

"_Yeah, you are. You don't talk to anybody."_

"_That's because I don't like anybody."_

"_Well, you have to like someone, or else you won't have any friends."_

_Yamato flopped back and Taichi's dislike of him gave way to general intrigue. He knew little of the boy who he'd seen nearly every day at school for the past few months._

"_I have friends."_

_Yamato lowly spit from between his teeth._

"_Who?"_

"_They're back home at my old school. If I didn't have to move to this crappy school then everything would have been fine!"_

_Taichi tilted his head and ignored the aggravation that had begun to reveal itself in Yamato's sharp tone._

"_Why'd you have to move?"_

"_None of your business!"_

"_I'm just trying to be your friend."_

"_I don't want to be your friend."_

"_Why not?"_

_Yamato didn't even bother to reply. He huffed and scowled and tutted, trying to dissuade Taichi from engaging him. He'd never really liked him, even though they'd hardly shared a conversation. He'd seen enough from his seat on the outside to find enough reasons to hate him. Taichi always seemed to leap around the playground from person to person as though he had a God given gifted that he needed to share with the world. Other kids fought amongst each other over who he might prefer. Teachers patted him on the head and chuckled when he joked around in class. And after a school day of being the class icon and teacher's darling, he had a beautiful mother who picked him up every day and showered him in kisses and treats when she greeted him. Yamato would always watch from the bus stop as he drove by and make faces. He'd even thrown his pencil case at the car once, only to duck behind the bus stop shelter when the car came to a halt. _

_He could never voice his reasons if someone were to ask him why he didn't like Taichi. It was just a feeling that he got whenever he watched the boy. Taichi seemed to give him the ability to see that while everyone else lived in colour he was surrounded by only grey. He was the grimy, frozen puddle to the side of a field of wild flowers. It made his toes curl, his hands tingle and tighten. He'd never hated anyone so much. He didn't know what to do with even half of his rage. Ignoring Taichi seemed to be the only thing stopping him from beating him to a bloody paste on a regular basis. He stayed in silence, glaring up at Taichi, testing his resilience by trying his hardest to break him with the intensity of his eyes. _

_Taichi was sick of not getting an answer. Yamato had always evaded him by walking away or ignoring him. Well, they were forbidden to leave the classroom, there was no one else to talk to and there was nothing left to distract either of them, so Taichi deemed this to be his perfect and only chance to tame the wild animal that had been nipping at his ankles for the past few months. He spared a glance to the door to check if the teacher outside was looking in before standing up and marching up to Yamato's desk as a soldier with orders. He puffed out his chest, thinking of his father and the man that he wanted to be. In a voice that was louder than necessary in such close proximity he made his most confident attempt to reach out to Yamato._

"_I'm Yagami Taichi, and you're not a weirdo. I'm sorry for hitting you."_

_At first Yamato stared up at Taichi, suspecting that he was using his typical, manipulative techniques to try and befriend him. He did however appreciate the apology. It felt good for Taichi to accept the blame for his actions. Yamato judged Taichi's expression first and decided that if he was using a poker face then it was a damn good one. He couldn't detect any traces of lies, insincerity or sarcasm. So, he nodded his head and kept eye contact._

"_I'm sorry, too, I guess."_

_He told himself repeatedly that he didn't mean it. That he'd only said it out of obligation._

"_So, what's your name?"_

_Yamato forced out an abrupt laugh, sneering while he looked up at Taichi._

"_You know my name."_

_Taichi didn't reply. He stood with his hip pressed against Yamato's desk and a serious face, waiting for the response he wanted. Yamato was stubborn. Their eyes remained locked for the whole of the long silence that succeeded Taichi's question. The only reason Yamato finally gave in was that Taichi's proximity was beginning to make him uncomfortable._

"_Ishida Yamato."_

_He muttered, and Taichi's hard expression completely shattered to leave his usual, bright smile._

"_Nice to meet you, Yamato. I hope we can get along in the future."_

_He bowed clumsily with his arms pressed tightly to his sides. Yamato's cheeks puffed with air as he tried to cage his laughter behind his lips._

"_You sound like a businessman."_

"_That's how my dad taught me to introduce myself."_

"_Didn't he tell you that you shouldn't address people so informally?"_

_Taichi's plump, childish cheeks darkened to a ripe apple red. He looked to the floor and nudged the desk leg with his toe as he bashfully replied._

"_Well, you can call me Taichi if you want."_

"_Maybe I don't want to call you Taichi."_

"_Then what do you want to call me?"_

_Yamato playfully scratched his chin and smirked. He considered 'baka-chan[2]' at first. After a short time he gracefully slipped his hand away from his face and spoke in a smooth, sly voice that was beyond his age._

"_Tai."_

_A shiver ran right through Taichi that followed a flush of red. No one except his family acted so familiar with him. Despite having so many friends he'd never even been given a nickname. He'd never been close enough to anyone else. And yet Yamato, a boy who he'd never had a true conversation with, had given him a nickname. Suddenly, in the span of only a few minutes, he had become the closest friend that Taichi had ever had._

_Taichi ruffled the hair that hung over his eyes, hoping to obscure Yamato's view of his face while he recovered from his embarrassment. When he looked up his expression was equally as mischievous as Yamato's and his smile was just as sly._

"_Fine. Then, I'll just call you Yama."_

_Yamato blushed in a similar fashion, but had the sensible idea to look away when it happened. Before Taichi could mock him he heard the click of heels following the line of the corridor and rushed back to his seat in time for the door to open._

"_Yagami, your mother's arrived."_

_He hid his exertion from running the length of the room and stood up from his desk casually. As he walked to the door he kept his eyes low so that he could spare a glance to Yamato without being noticed. The other boy wasn't even pretending to write his essay even while the teacher was present. Taichi was in slight awe at his audacity, but was further surprised when Yamato called out to him once he reached the door._

"_Good luck, Tansoku-Tai-chan[3]."_

_He chuckled scathingly, keeping his eyes on the window. Before his teacher got a good grip on his shoulder Taichi spun around and pointed to Yamato's smiling face._

"_Shut up, Yanki-Yama-chan![4]"_

"_Yagami Taichi, out! Now! March!"_

_He was pulled backwards down the corridor by his collar, all the while hearing Yamato's truly joyful laugh bouncing off the walls of the classroom._

* * *

_[1] 'chan' is a suffix used with names that you'd normally use with a young girl or someone you're really familiar with._

_[2] idiot_

_[3] short legs_

_[4] a term used to describe rebel teens who bleach their hair. Yamato doesn't actually bleach his hair. Taichi's just making a comparison to insult him._

* * *

_It's rough and short, but I'm just so frustrated! I've been trying to get this chapter finished for months but I haven't been able to get it right. The story's all there. It's just the writing I keep messing up. So, I just thought that, for now, I'll publish it as it is. I can always go back to it later, but right now I'm desperate to get this fic going!_

_On top of that I've started a new fic that's been distracting me. It's one of those stories that I'm able to really connect to because it's from a character that has a mind of its own. It's definitely OC but I have big plans for it in the future if you guys fancy checking it out. 'Apfel'_

_I'm sorry for everyone who's waited and I'm so grateful for all of you who are sticking with this fic. I'm really going to try my best to make it as good as it is in my head, so get read for some fucking dramaaaaaaaaaaaaa!_

_love you all_

_bye_

**Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper**

**x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Money and Martyrdom**

* * *

"So, we'll pick you up tomorrow?"

Yamato tapped the toe of his shoe against the floor, securing it onto his foot, and looked over his shoulder at Takeru.

"Yeah, okay. Call me when you're close and I'll wait in the lobby."

"Alright. Get home safe."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

He hesitated for a second, but quickly marched to the door with Takeru following to hold the door open for him. He skipped the steps and landed heavily at the bottom, barely visible to Takeru in the dark street at so late at night.

"Bye."

Takeru waved into the darkness and was able to recognise the silhouette of his brother when he waved back. He struggled a second time to allow him to leave, especially on foot and alone. There was no one to drive him back now that they'd opened the third bottle of wine. Even the designated drivers resorted to taking cabs home. Eventually Takeru found the strength in him to close the front door and return to the living room. Hikari had cleared away most of the plates and now herself and Sora felt the responsibility to finish off the last of the wine instead of attempting to recork it for another night. Takeru slid onto the sofa next to his partner and poured out the last few drops into his already red stained glass. Hikari tucked herself into his shoulder and rested her light head against him.

"Is he getting the train back?"

She tiredly mumbled. He nodded and rested his head on top of hers, brushing his stubbled chin against her silk hair.

"Yeah. I think he just wanted some time alone."

"Do you think I was a bit hard on him? I didn't mean to be so demanding."

"No, it's okay. It was kind of necessary, I think. He can handle it."

"I just feel...relieved, I suppose. And worried at the same time."

On the separate chair across the room, Sora muttered into her glass before consuming the rest of her wine in one gulp.

"This is a bad idea."

Hikari sighed and nuzzled her face into Takeru's shirt.

"Just don't, Sora."

The sound of Sora's glass being placed on the table revealed the unnecessary force she used. It clanked loudly and rattled before settling firmly on its base.

"I don't understand how you could be so calm about this?! Taichi isn't going to run into Yamato's arms and be miraculously cured. Five years of repression isn't just going to fizzle up and disappear."

"We know that. We just need somewhere to start. Now, can you just drop it?"

"I just can't accept this. I'm sorry. Taichi's just going to end up more hurt in my opinion."

Hikari, now much more alert, sat up and defensively chose to move away from Takeru. He sat back and didn't intervene, knowing that his input was hardly valid. Hikari was the only one who had the right to fight for her brother's sake. He only hoped that Sora might back down, otherwise she threatened to awaken an old pain. Hikari placed her glass next to Sora's on the centre table and sat upright. Her voice was as calm as she could attempt to make it.

"You think he's even in a position to be more hurt? Have you even seen it?"

Sora silently stared at her. Not with anger, but with firm confidence. Hikari, always soft and gentle, was now solid as iron in body and voice.

"Don't talk about what you don't know, Sora. You have no idea what's best for him. You weren't there."

"I wish I had been, sometimes."

She'd meant to say it to herself. Wine had blurred her perception of mind and mouth and she had spoken before realising. Instantly she wished she could take it back, but Hikari's reaction was far too quick.

"Don't even say that!"

Sora sat back in shock.

"I'm sorry."

Hikari abruptly stood up and collected the empty glasses from the table, only wanting an excuse to leave the room.

"We're going to see him tomorrow. I guess you'll have to wait to find out if you're right or not."

Takeru watched her wipe her arm across her face as she left to the kitchen. When he turned his gaze, Sora was collecting her purse from the floor and trying to stand despite the restrictions of her tight skirt. She looked to him, hoping that he might reassure her that she had spoken the truth. But, his face was blank. Suddenly, she felt as though Yamato had little to do with her argument.

"I'm sorry."

She shouldered her purse and spared an apologetic glance to Takeru before showing herself out. Hikari regretful emerged from the kitchen once she'd heard the front door quietly shut. Takeru remained in his seat wiping at his forehead tiredly. In guilt she silently retired for the night without waiting for him.

* * *

Taichi had changed his shirt by Hikari's request. When she'd asked him how long he'd been wearing it and he wasn't able to tell her she immediately ushered him into his bedroom and shut the door behind him with an order to 'clean up'. Now, he stood in front of the four of them who had made space within the refuse to sit on his sofa in a tight line. It was surreal for all of them. None of them had expected the reunion to pan out that way that it had. Even Taichi had surprised himself by reacting violently. In his dreams, where Yamato would visit him, he welcomed him home with an embrace and kiss in a warm, dark, secluded place. But as soon as he laid eyes on this creature that dared to wear the same eyes as the man that he loved, something had erupted from within him; a deeply rooted anger that had lay dormant while he had been unaware. He'd actually been glad that Hikari had asked him to change his shirt. Sitting on his bed, regulating his breathing, had been exactly what he needed to come as close to being prepared as he could be.

He didn't want to sit down. His legs were still shaking. He stood as far away from Yamato as possible while standing in front of him and observed him. Nothing about him was as he remembered it to be. His eyes were darker; his hair was more platinum than gold; his skin was a healthy peach instead of a ghostly white. He'd taken off his jacket when he'd made himself comfortable and now Taichi could see the lines of his muscles beneath his thin shirt. This...thing was not the delicate spirit that had held Taichi at night with spectral limbs. And that made Taichi angrier.

"Why are you here?"

He barked and crossed his arms. Yamato leant forward in his seat, annoyed that he was having to look up at Taichi who was making a very obvious attempt to seem threatening.

"Are you referring to Japan or specifically your apartment?"

He sighed sarcastically. Taichi didn't receive his question well. He narrowed his eyes further and his lips pulled into half a sneer by a string connected to his arched brow. Yamato waved off his own comment, pretending that he hadn't said it, and started again with a much more serious tone.

"A friend of mine died. I'm attending his funeral-"

"So you didn't even come back for us?! You really are a fucking coward, aren't you, Ishida?!"

Yamato didn't rise to Taichi's anger, though it really bit him. Even the impersonal referral hurt. But, he remained calm. He hadn't expected to be warmly welcomed, but that didn't make Taichi's coldness hurt any less. He hardened his eyes and held them with Taichi's.

"You can see it that way if you want. No point in trying to change your mind."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just because that was my initial reason that doesn't mean that it's the only one."

"Well, why even fucking bother?"

Taichi finally met his limit and turned away from Yamato, feeling his chest, swollen with air, press up against his crossed arms. Every little thing he did made Taichi hate him even more. The way he spoke and looked at him in that condescending way, as though speaking to a child, and the way he so casually sat on his sofa as though he hadn't been missing for the last five years. Even if Yamato were to throw himself on the floor and beg for forgiveness, at this point Taichi didn't even want to give it to him. Now that his mind was made up, he just had to end this meeting quickly. He turned around quickly with his arms uncrossed and his face void of any emotion. Hikari, Takeru and Daisuke spared confused and worried glances with each other as he approached them slowly, but Yamato was as calm as ever. He stared into Taichi's eyes right up until the moment where Taichi stood only half a foot in front of him, nearly brushing their knees together. Yamato refused to lean back in his seat, despite the uncomfortable angle that he had to tilt his head in order to make eye contact.

"What do you want from me?"

"To talk."

"About what?"

"You."

Taichi faked a laugh and even purposely threw his head to decorate it. Afterwards his face slipped right back to its previous cold expression.

"I'd much rather talk about you, actually."

Everyone in the room tensed immediately, expecting Taichi to spur Yamato into an argument, or worse, another fight. Even the way he had approached, with his eyes cemented to Yamato's unabashed expression, showed the sparks of barely contained aggression.

"Why did you leave?"

"I needed to."

"That's not a fucking reason!"

When his fingers rolled into his palm and the veins of his hands swelled above the surface Hikari stood up and reached up to put a hand on her brother's shoulder.

"Taichi, calm down."

"Keep out of this, Hikari!"

Immediately she withdrew her hand and took a step back. She didn't sit back down. Instead she chose to stay in a position where she could intervene instantly if the situation were to escalate. Before Taichi could ask any more questions Yamato spoke up, sounding as indifferent as he had tried to be since the start of the conversation.

"If you want an apology, you're not going to get it."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't regret it."

"You don't regret hurting us?! Abandoning us?! Leaving us all worried sick?! What is it exactly that you don't regret?"

"The way I left was wrong. I admit that. But leaving was the right thing to do."

"For who?!"

A tense silence followed where Taichi tried to catch his breath. Yamato bit his lip, trying to hold back any insults that pushed at his throat. Now was not a good time to get angry, but it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his composure when Taichi was obviously forcing down on sensitive areas. He forced his next words out through his tense lips.

"I won't regret it."

"Then tell me what good came from it for anyone other than yourself?"

"I don't have to justify anything for you. If you don't believe me it's your own problem."

"Stop talking to me like you don't fucking know me!"

Yamato's mouth was snapped shut involuntarily. He had the words to reply, but not the will. Taichi as well was shocked by his own response. A heaviness fell over the room and none were really sure what they could say to lift it. Hikari stepped forward cautiously and slipped her hand into Taichi's now limp one.

"Taichi, your head's bruising. Come here."

Taichi's eyes remained locked with Yamato's as he was dragged out of the room towards the kitchen. When he'd finally turned the corner and was absent from sight Takeru and Daisuke released a relieved breath while Yamato looked down to his lap, trapped in thought.

"You okay? Does anything hurt on you?"

Yamato distractedly glanced at Takeru before shaking his head.

"Nah, not really. I've just got a bit of a headache, really."

Takeru moved his brother's body away from him and sat up to inspect him, combing his fingers through Yamato's hair in search of injuries.

"Nothing looks really bad. You've got some pretty dark bruises down your neck, though."

"Oh, those are old. I had a motorcycle accident a while ago."

Both Takeru and Daisuke piped up at the same time, though with very different tones to their voice.

"You had an accident?!"

"You have a motorcycle?!"

Daisuke coughed awkwardly when Takeru gave him a scolding look but Yamato laughed at the both of them. Their responses were so typical of them. It was refreshing to speak to people that he understood so well. He playfully brushed off Takeru's hands that searched him for more injuries.

"Yeah, a cabbie clipped me. No big deal. My guitar broke, though."

"Your old one?"

Takeru sadly replied, offering a sympathetic hand on his knee. He knew how important that guitar had been to Yamato. Yamato nodded with a regretful smile.

"Yeah. It's a shame. But, I guess she was getting pretty old anyway."

Takeru and Daisuke nodded, knowing that no more could really be said about the matter. Any more attempts at consoling him would most likely serve to only upset him further. Takeru fell back into the sofa and rubbed his face tiredly.

"This isn't going so well, is it?"

Yamato shrugged.

"Oh well. At least you got him to let us in. Normally he'd just slam the door and we'd have to break it down."

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at getting on people's nerves. Why do you think we fought so often?"

In the kitchen, Hikari dabbed a wad of cold, wet tissue onto a reddening patch on Taichi's forehead. It would have been better to use something frozen, but Taichi had no frozen foods in his apartment and she knew that before she'd even checked.

"I can't believe you did that. What were you thinking? How could you?"

Taichi shrugged his folded arms and batted her away.

"We've fought worse."

She threw the deteriorating glob into the bin and urged him into the counter with her hands on her hips.

"I thought you wanted to see him. Didn't you? You've been telling everyone how much you've missed for so long that we've gotten tired of hearing it."

"I-...you fucking-"

Her hand automatically swiped him across the head before he could finish.

"Don't swear at me!"

"Ow! Kari!"

He sulked and rubbed his head for a moment while thinking how to answer. He only swore because he hadn't been sure how to reply and needed something to fill in the spaces in his speech. She waited for him to answer, looking more like their mother than ever. She bit her lip like their mother would do and cocked her hips like her as well. He hoped after a while that she might save him having to answer by scolding him some more. But, all hopes were in vain. She stared him down patiently until he found only a few words to utter.

"He's not Yama."

"Then, who is he?"

"I don't know."

"He wants to fix things."

"I don't want them fixed."

"Then what do you want, Taichi?! Do you want to carry on moping and sulking? I brought him here so that you can get out of this funk and get on with your life. You're twenty eight!"

"And old enough to handle my own problems!"

"So, handle them."

Taichi rubbed his palm over the forming lump on his head with a growl.

"Jeez. I always knew you'd end up like mum."

Hikari broke her motherly scowl to show a small smile.

"It's a good thing I did. Someone needs to knock some sense into you."

A flick to his arm punctuated her point and he submitted with a shy smirk of his own. The final urges for disobedience settled in him and with a huff he turned to her with crossed arms.

"Fine. What do you want me to do?"

Hikari stifled a victorious smile and kept up with her act. She flicked her hair and kept to her self-assured expression. Now that he'd compared her to her mother she thought it safe to use her methods for reference. Keep eye contact; stay calm; stand back to make their difference in height less obvious.

"Be civil. Talk to him."

"I'll do it for you."

"I don't want you to do it for me. I want you to do it for yourself."

Even that quote came directly from her mother. Taichi remembered it all too well. It was both hilarious and infuriating to hear it coming from his little sister.

"_Fine_. For _myself_, then."

"Good, now go apologise to him."

"Is that for myself as well?"

"No. It's because you strangled him."

He laughed all the while she ushered him out of the room. He wiped the remaining water from his face with his forearm and prepared his firm expression for when he entered the living room. The quietly talking men on the sofa silenced completely once they noticed his presence. In the two seconds of not realising that Taichi had been there Yamato had been smiling. It was not one of those serene, almost vacant smiles that Taichi used to see so often in sleep or delirium. It was new. He'd never seen it before. It was lively, bright, sincere, yet, all the while...natural. It was so unnaturally natural to see it on Yamato who had always been so contained and indifferent. So overwhelmed with his fascination, he held it in his mind and stood in silence, staring at Yamato who now squirmed uncertainly in his seat under Taichi's stare. Hikari, entering behind him, purposely cleared her throat and nudged his back with her shoulder. The words burst from him as though he had been choking and Hikari cleared his pipes.

"I'm sorry for hurting you."

Yamato, confused by the apology, responded slowly after a pause.

"I forgive you. I'm sorry, too."

"It's fine. I think your chokehold cleared my sinuses a bit."

The joke was strained and unexpected and told without much humour to it. Even Taichi cringed in regret after blurting it. No one displayed any signs of amusement. The best he received was patronising smiles and obliging nods. Yamato, of all of them, was not sympathetic at all. In fact he saw a joke to be downright inappropriate while the situation was still so raw and fragile, and especially since it had only been a short while since he'd had the other's hands frighteningly wrapped around his neck. He wasn't upset; more left bewildered by Taichi's fickle emotions. It was an odd glimpse into what was left of Taichi's uplifting attitude. He lowered his head to disguise any upset that was displayed on his face.

Taichi no longer stood stiffly. The tiredness showed in his slumped posture

"I know this is a big deal and we need to talk about a lot of stuff, but right now I think I need some time alone to process all this."

Hikari regretfully agreed to it, knowing too well what time alone might entail for Taichi. They left without fight and Taichi was all too quick to close the door behind them without much of a goodbye. With them finally out of his sanctuary he slumped against the door and cupped his face in his hands.

* * *

_Like an amateur portrait, they sat stiffly in parallel on the sofa only a few inches apart. One wouldn't think that a pair of teenagers were capable of sitting still for so long, yet they hadn't even spoken for quite some time. It had still been light outside when they first sat down together. Yamato wouldn't even attempt to speak. His jaw was clenched so tightly shut that he could feel the pressure up through his cheekbone and his eyes blankly pointed to the empty wall in front of him. That was what scared Taichi; the emptiness of his expression. Taichi was well acquainted with the aggressive side of Yamato's personality. He knew what to do to calm him when he was in a fit of rage or passively sulking. But, he'd never been a witness of this. Yamato had always been aloof and indifferent. It was part of the reason why people thought that he could only be admired from afar. So, to see him truly hurt doubled the weight of the guilt that sat on his shoulders. _

_He didn't dare to try and touch him. Yamato was never one to take comfort from human contact, but that wasn't the reason why Taichi kept his distance. He felt...undeserving._

"_It didn't mean anything."_

_He croaked through his dry throat. Yamato jolted, surprised to hear him speak after so long a silence. The fists in his lap tightened without him realising. His words leapt from his mouth before he had time to catch them. He hadn't intended to speak at all until Taichi had fully explained himself._

"_Well, how the hell am I supposed to know that? You can't just -..."_

_He broke off raggedly. Speaking had been a mistake. Now, everything that he wanted to say came rushing up all at once and blocked his throat. Small noises and squeaks, like the sounds of gagging, seemed to jump out from behind his trembling lips. Yamato eventually forced his mouth closed to capture them and pressed his chin against his chest with his eyes squeezed shut. He rarely experienced anything like this. So few people had the power to hurt him and he recalled once again why he never gave them this power. It felt like ever part of him was malfunctioning. He no longer had any control of his body. He could only remain trapped within it as it slowly shut down, one organ at a time._

"_Yama?"_

_Yamato slowly shook his head._

"_I knew this wouldn't work."_

_Taichi risked an inch to better hear Yamato. He'd hardly even whispered those words; only accompanied the movement of his lips with breath. The mirror between them was broken when Taichi turned his body to face his lover and leant in close to him. He spoke just as quietly._

"_What?"_

_Without warning Taichi was forced to leap back when Yamato threw his head back and slammed his fists down onto the seat. The sound of his fists making contact with the wooden skeleton beneath the several layers of cotton and fabric made Taichi cringe._

"_I knew this wouldn't fucking work! I hate this! I hate this feeling! Why the fuck would anyone do this to themselves?"_

_He was left heaving with laboured breaths after his outburst and his eyes clenched shut even tighter. Taichi sat shocked a foot away. He hardly recognised Yamato in this state. His voice didn't hold its usual steel confidence. It wavered and creaked._

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_Monogamy. It's stupid."_

_Yamato dropped his head into his hands. Taichi could hear his hard exhales against his palms. He could only read Yamato by his body language now that he'd hidden his face. His shoulders were pulled up against his ears and shaking, warding off Taichi's hovering hand that wanted to land there. Taichi sighed and looked away, finding that he had more strength when he couldn't see Yamato._

"_Don't go all dramatic and say bullshit like that. It's not monogamy that's stupid. It's me."_

_He received no response. Not even a sign that Yamato had heard him. He waited quietly to hear only the sound of Yamato's shaky breathing funnelled by his hands._

"_I'm sorry, Yama."_

_While Taichi had his head lowered in shame Yamato jumped up and tried to escape the situation suddenly. Taichi only looked up in time to see Yamato's back once he'd turned towards the front door. He sprung to his feet just as fast and ruined Yamato's hopes for a dramatic exit by wrapping his fingers around his forearm and pulling him back. Yamato didn't stumble. Roots had sprouted from his shoes and now he could barely move. Taichi looked at his hand that tightly clenched Yamato's arm in awe. He had finally found it in him to touch Yamato, and he realised that neither of them had burst into flames. Yamato wasn't entirely rejecting Taichi's hand on him, so Taichi pressed that little bit further. Manoeuvring within the narrow space between the sofa and the centre table, he took a step forward and touched his chest to Yamato's shoulder. _

"_I'm sorry."_

_Nothing. There was no longer tension on his arm where Yamato was trying to pull away, but he wasn't making any other movements. Taichi felt his organs twist around each other in a painful knot. He loosened his grip on Yamato's arm, one finger at a time. Just as he was about to pull away a cold, pale hand landed over his own, holding it down to make sure he wouldn't let go. Taichi raised his head in hope. Slowly Yamato pivoted to face him and raised his head to meet his eyes._

_His eyes were cold; firm; piercing even. His lips were drawn tightly across his face into a thin line. But, despite this, two glistening tracks curved around his cheeks. He faced Taichi with power and confidence that made him question whether or not he realised the tears continued to fall. _

"_You better mean that."_

_Taichi's shock faded and his loosely parted lips pursed. He shifted his hand beneath Yamato's to link their fingers together._

"_I'm sorry."_

_He whispered for a final time and, without anything else needed to be said, Yamato turned to face him and their lips met with a sigh of satisfaction. Their joined hands were trapped between their chests now. It was a chaste, mournful kiss. Taichi savoured it desperately and brushed his thumb across Yamato's cheek, feeling the tears smear beneath his touch and mimic the texture of silk. Their lips were just as silent in parting as they were in joining. Yamato's shuddered breath and a watery sheen on his cheeks were now all that was left to show that he'd cried. _

* * *

He'd finally gotten to sleep after squirming restlessly for hours. Serves him right for having beer before bed. That's the thing with beer. The first one's for the taste, the second's for the dry mouth after the first, and the third one leaves you pissing for the rest of the night. He'd stormed back and forth from the bathroom to his bed more times than were tolerable in the past few hours, and after a workout like that he'd finally depleted enough energy to rest. And soon after that he was inconveniently woken by his cell phone that rattled and wailed on the table by his head.

He didn't bother to turn on the light. Half awake, he groped in the dark with clumsy hands until he finally managed to drag his phone under the covers and to his ear.

"Mmmm'ello?"

He sighed with his eyes still closed and close to drifting back off to sleep.

"Yamato?"

"Yeah, speaking."

"It's Hikari. I'm sorry to bother you so late, but we have some trouble."

With a long, deep breath through his nose Yamato gathered all his will to sit up and pay attention. Resting his back against the pillows he rubbed his closed eyes in hopes to pry them open.

"Hmm? What's up?"

"I got a call from Taichi. I couldn't understand him, but I think he might be in trouble. He was very drunk from what I could tell."

Well, he was certainly awake now, despite not at all wanting to be. To make sure that there was no way of falling back asleep he swung his legs across the mattress, out from under the covers and off the side of the bed. He wriggled his toes into the cool carpet and sighed.

"Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you know Tokyo night life better than any of us, and you're the closest to most of the clubs. Do you know what club he might be in so we can find him and take him home?"

"I'm not sure. New places could have opened up; popularity changes."

"Well, you're the only lead we have. You at least have some suggestions, right?"

He took a deep breath and leant onto his knees, massaging his bottom lip with his finger while he thought. Hikari had to wait in silence over the phone for at least a minute while he desperately scraped his memory for numbers and names while sleep was still pressing down on him.

"It's Thursday, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then there're two that I'd suggest. I'll give you the address for one and I'll check the other. If I find him there I'll call you and bring him home. The same goes for you guys, okay?"

"Yes. Thank you so much for doing this."

He paused in getting up from the bed, shaking his head sadly.

"Don't thank me."

While he racked his brain for the addresses he threw on the first items that he found in his clothes pile. He kept having to pause and shake his head when the room darkened from his eyes drooping closed. He recited the address to Hikari over the phone, choosing to send her to the one that was closest to her while he was having to journey to central Tokyo. After hanging up he called a cab, slyly suggesting that he would pay more if it were to arrive sooner than they suggested it would. It swerved up to the curb outside of the hotel only ten minutes later.

He noticed while he pulled up next to the club that it hadn't changed much. The flickering light on the sign had been fixed, and the shape of the windows on the door was different, but nothing else other than that. There was no line outside. Everyone that wanted to be inside was already in there, and Yamato was _definitely_ not one of those people.

The cab stopped abruptly and the driver stuck back his hand to receive his payment without vocalising his request. Yamato folded the bills and passed them to him in the same rude manner as the driver had demanded them and exited the cab, slamming the door behind him. He looked up at the rotten building, wondering how drunk he must have been to attend the club of his own volition when he was younger.

The first thing he did was approach the bouncer at the door. He no longer held any sort of resentment towards bouncers or barmen now that he understood their job. He remembered times when he would argue violently and lash out at them whenever they tried to kick him out or refuse him entry to certain places, but one part time summer job changed all that. Looking from the sober side of the situation he'd developed the empathy that he'd so easily lost after he'd had a few drinks. The burly guy standing outside of this particular club for example was obviously fed up with oblivious drunkards by the way he slouched and sighed. But he still gave a respectful nod to Yamato who obediently followed the requirements of entry. He flashed his identification without being asked and handed over his entrance fee in exact change instead of making the easier choice of handing a wad of notes and expecting the other to do all the maths for him. They even engaged in silent conversation when they met eyes.

'Rough night, huh?'

'You have no idea.'

And so, he entered the club with little hassle, dreading what was in store from what he could hear and smell. Fumes from spilt spirits circulated the air, mingling with the sharp scent of the few bodies that were sweating more than usual from the heat and strenuous activities. His shoes struggled to be lifted from the when the alcohol that lined the surface clung to his soles.

The place was packed to the walls. He had about two seconds to recognise a face when the strobe lights flashed on quickly before flashing off once again. There was no point asking the bartender or the bouncers. There was no way they would memorise one out of a hundred people. So, he thought to make his way to the balcony to try and scope the dance floor from above. He checked his pockets first, making sure that his wallet was buried deep enough to ensure that it wouldn't be easily taken before heading into the crowd to reach the stairs. Half naked men and women rubbed their moist torsos against his shoulders and back as he passed them, leaving lingering touches once he was out of reach. He strategically avoided walking through the centre of groups, knowing that it would provoke either a fight or a drunken attempt to seduce him. He kept to the edges of the crowd instead where the people weren't as tightly packed together and he could easily slide between them. He had to keep his hands above his waist otherwise he risked trapping them in awkward places.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, holding tightly to the handrail to avoid slipping on the wet stairs or being knocked down by the lines of women in heels that rushed by him in the other direction. Once at the top he leant over the railings and scanned the crowd with his eyes in a snaking pattern, searching for a particular hairstyle or listening out for a familiar voice. The distracting environment forced him to repeat the process several times at first for him to have a successful look, and when he didn't recognise anyone the first time around he looked over the crowd a couple more times to double check. Taichi wasn't there. Next he looked at the balcony that bordered the room and found his search to be fruitless once again.

He was panting now. The air was hot and wet and while most people were wearing only scraps of clothes he was still wrapped in his thick jacket and long sleeved shirt. He worried that if he took it off it might get dragged away in the current and he would have something else that he needed to chase after. So, he kept his thoughts on snow and ice to try and trick his body into thinking he was cool while he jumped the stairs to check the next place Taichi could be. It took him a few moments for him to remember where the rest rooms where, and on the way there he felt something similar to a groping hand being cupped around his buttocks that he forced himself to ignore.

His face crinkled in disgust as soon as he opened the door. His senses, previously overwhelmed with the sickly sweet smell of alcohol and perfume, were pummelled with the foul stench of vomit and waste. That was something that definitely hadn't changed in this club. Whether it was poorly maintained or the customers had dysfunctional bowels, the bathrooms were always disgusting. Now he remembered why he'd usually piss on the wall outside whenever he came here. He suffered through the initial shock for a moment before pressing forward onto the grey tiled floors.

Three men stood at the urinal. None he recognised. Two of the stalls were closed. At first he thought the he could wait for them to come out by pretending to make a phone call, but he found that he needn't bother when he heard a voice and laugh that he recognised over the ear numbing bass that pounded through the walls.

"Taichi?"

He called out at first. One of the men that had finished his business passed by and offered a questioning look before heading out the door. Yamato ignored him and listened harder. He didn't want to risk breaking the door down to find a guy doing a shit.

"Taichi, I know you're in here."

An outburst of laughter was shushed by another voice in the same stall. He found which one it was quickly and subtly leant back to see several pairs of feet from under the door, thankfully none in direct line to the toilet. He pounded his fist on the door several times and received no response other than quiet laughter. Regretting already what he would need to do he scoped the lock of the door and found it to be a safety lock; one easily broken from the outside. All he had to do was use one of his keys to twist the bolt. So, he did, and pulled the door open to find three men and Taichi crowded in the one stall and centred around several lines of white powder that they'd arranged on the toilet lid.

"What the fuck?!"

That bewildered voice came from the man kneeling over the seat with a note already rolled up in his hand. Yamato ignored him and instead grabbed Taichi's collar and forcefully dragged him out of the stall.

"Who the hell arre you? Gittoff me!"

Taichi dazedly struggled and pushed Yamato off him. He only had enough balance to lean back against the sink once he was free from his support. Yamato put his hands on Taichi's shoulders to inspect him and forced eye contact.

"It's me; Yamato. I'm taking you home."

Taichi's twitching eyes widened and a frightened look overtook his face.

"Y-Yama?"

Yamato shook his head in disappointment. Taichi was a mess. His shirt had been half ripped off of him and even his sweat reeked of the sharp stench of spirits. He didn't bother to make any more of an explanation and instead manoeuvred himself behind Taichi to force him out the door towards the main room. He kept his hands on his shoulders, feeling like that was the most comfortable place they could be while he tried to keep Taichi on track to the door. He even considered a sort of punishment to use Taichi as something of a shield from the crowd. However, halfway through the room, Taichi seemed to suddenly realise what was going on and he started to struggle, though it could barely be called that. As though Yamato's hands were flies he tried to swat them off of his shoulders and batted at the people around him whenever they touched him. It wasn't any trouble for Yamato, but the people around him pointed fingers in outrage whenever Taichi hit them. Before they were able to reach the door a bouncer had waded his way through the crowd and pulled them to the side.

"What's going on here?"

"I'm being abducted!"

Taichi interjected. Before the bouncer could take him seriously he laughed hysterically, causing him to turn his attention to Yamato for perhaps a more sober answer. After a frustrated sigh through his teeth Yamato attempted to shout his reply over the music.

"He's drunk! I'm trying to take him home! Could you help me get him out the door?"

The bouncer leant in closer with his head turned to better hear him and afterwards he signalled an 'okay' and motioned for them to follow him. Yamato got a better hold on Taichi, fisting the collar of his shirt, and changed his technique to drag Taichi behind him. Taichi barely resisted this time, most probably too tired and disorientated. The bouncer led them through a more diluted area of people to reach the much closer emergency exit. In the pitch back of the club during the build up to a drop in the music the bouncer opened the door, revealing a portal of heavenly light to freedom. Knowing that his thanks wouldn't be heard over the music Yamato didn't bother to speak. He simply reached into his pocket to find a couple of loose notes and handed them to bouncer with a nod as he passed. As soon as he'd pulled Taichi out the door it was closed with a loud crash behind them with no way back in; an issue that he felt little guilt in ignoring.

Looking back at the closed door he became aware of the familiarity of it. It hadn't always been an emergency exit. The alleyway they now stood in used to be a smoking area. He recognised some of the half torn posters that lined the crumbly brick wall. He could even form the rest of the images that he now only saw pieces of. He would've taken more time to observe his changed surroundings if not for Taichi leaning heavily on him and drunkenly panting into his shoulder.

Suddenly reminding himself, Yamato fished his phone from his coat pocket and selected the recent addition to his list of contacts. Hikari picked up within moments.

"Did you find him?"

"Yeah. I've got him with me now and we're on our way back to his apartment. My hotel doesn't allow uninvited guests, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry. I can meet you at his apartment if you want and give you a ride home."

"No, don't bother. I'll just crash on his sofa or something. That way I can look after him I guess."

"Okay, call me when you're at his apartment so I know that you got there okay."

"Yeah. I'll talk to you later."

With that he gave another tug to Taichi's shirt to stop him from straying and started to drag him to the station. It would've probably been easier to get a cab, but so early in the morning the air was becoming piercingly cold and he didn't think that a half naked Taichi would appreciate standing around outside to wait for a ride. If they power walked they could probably catch the last train. When Taichi started to stumble Yamato took his arm and circled it around his neck while wrapping his own arms around Taichi's waist to support him while he walked. It brought memories of when they had walked in a similar fashion in the past down the same route. Although, usually Yamato would've been the one that could hardly walk. His tolerance had always been exceptional, but his estimations of his limit had always been inaccurate.

The stairs into the station were the worst obstacle that they came to. Despite how many times it happened, Taichi continued to over step every other stair and miss a crushed nose only by wrapping his arm that much tighter around Yamato's neck, nearly taking him down with him. The clock that hung at the entrance read that it had only just turned midnight and Yamato berated himself once he realised that he hadn't checked the time before walking to the station. They hadn't missed the last train, but it would have been more reassuring to know that beforehand.

Yamato paid for both of their tickets, deciding once he saw the congestion leading up to the platform that he would rather not waste time trying maul Taichi's clothes off him in search for his rail card. As they lined up to pass through the turnstile Taichi's head slowly began to droop until Yamato supported its full weight on his shoulder. His slight lean to accommodate it encouraged Taichi to press himself even closer until most of his body was draped over Yamato. When it came to the next set of stairs leading to the platform Yamato was practically carrying Taichi up them, spitefully ignoring whenever the man tripped or bumped into someone. The muttering didn't start until they were stood on the platform, pressed even closer together by the swarm of people that surrounded them.

"You're fucking lucky you have a sister as great as Hikari. If you'd called me up in the middle of the night I would've left you there to your own trouble. You scared the shit out of her. It's a fucking miracle she even cares enough to get sca-"

"Where'd you go?"

It was quiet and weak, but he'd heard that soft, sad voice nonetheless.

"What? What do you mean?"

He tried to turn his head to look Taichi in the eye but the other man, coiled around him like a snake, was hiding his face in Yamato's neck. Without words, he tightened his arms, crushing Yamato against him. His arms were welded iron, locking Yamato in a firm and suffocating grip. He noted the lone office working edge away when he noticed their predicament. They were attracting attention. Most people within a radius of a couple of meters were awkwardly adjusting bags, glancing at watches and pretending to read advertising posters while secretly monitoring the strange embracing couple.

"Taichi, you're hurting me."

Yamato subtly warned, putting a reassuring smile on for the onlookers who may have been concerned about the abnormal hue to his blood filled face. He patted the weakened man on the back, pretending that he wasn't cringing within the arms that encased him. He was hotter than he was in the club and experiencing nausea worse than he'd had in a long time. There were too many people far too close; too many bodies radiating heat; not enough space to breathe. Taichi was the main cause of it all but he didn't relent. He held tighter and streams of hot, sweet breath poured from his lips and trickled down Yamato's neck and beneath his shirt and jacket.

"Where'd you go?"

He pleaded a little louder and tried to step closer where there was no space left, making Yamato stumble away from him. Avoiding the questioning eyes, Yamato squirmed within Taichi's arms, trying to gently pry him off. There were so many eyes and whispers surrounding them; they were just as suffocating.

"I'm right here, Taichi, okay? So, let go."

There was little sign of surrender. The more Taichi tried to press them together the more he was pushing Yamato away. Every step forward was rewarded with a step backwards. Yamato noticed a man in a security vest eyeing them from the other end of the platform and panicked. He'd only been asked to take Taichi home, not comfort him and nurse him in his delirious state. He'd coddled him enough. He roughly wriggled an arm free so that Taichi's looped around his waist instead of his neck. Yamato Placed his hand on Taichi's shoulder when claustrophobia got the best of him. There was so little space to breathe and so much heat and noise.

"I said let go!"

It was only a small push; barely one with the strength to actually move a body. Annoyance turned to anger to guilt to fear to horror. Taichi stumbled over his own feet in the direction Yamato had pushed him; towards the tracks. Onlookers stepped away to avoid being hit, offering Taichi a clear path to intercept the oncoming train. Yamato had never thought that he'd be one to act quickly when it came to emergencies. He mainly tended to be the one to freeze in shock and not move until all was over. However, as soon as he saw Taichi teetering over the edge of the platform, the train's lights flashing over the side of his face, he leapt forward enough to grab onto the fluttering remains of Taichi's shirt. He pulled hard, using his whole body to drag Taichi back to safety.

A hole formed in the herd where two men lay sprawled on the platform floor. One, half conscious, collapsed on top of the other who lay wide eyed and overwhelmed with adrenalin. The screeching of the train coming to a halt was dampened by the piercing ringing in his ears as he lay there in shock. Taichi's chest pressed against his own swelled and deflated slowly and peacefully. Taichi's arms slowly wrapped around his neck once again and Yamato did nothing to shake them off. His own damaged hands were pressed into the floor where half of the skin on them had been scraped off. The train doors opened and the crowd filtered in casually. It wasn't until the platform had completely emptied that Yamato picked them both up and rushed through the closing doors onto the train.

* * *

_More dust and flakes of brick felt to the floor as he was forced back into the wall. He could make up an array of creative stories about the origins of the scratches on his back, but he and Taichi would know that the crumbling wall was the true culprit and not the passionate, feminine hands he would mention to those that asked him the next day when he changed for school sports. His cigarette that he held in that hand that was draped over Taichi's shoulder, was half precariously held together ash. When Taichi harshly rutted against him the warm clump fell to the floor unnoticed. The taste that mixed between their lips of cigarettes and spirits wuld have disgusted them under more sober circumstances._

_Ignoring their bashful audience, Taichi skated his hands across Yamato's naked, slick torso and approvingly fed his moans and mumbles into Yamato's mouth. __When the bouncer approached them they hardly thought to break apart until he grabbed Taichi's collar and forced their lips to break contact._

"_Either do that at home or break it up. Smoking yard closes in five minutes."_

_Yamato drunkenly remained collapsed against the wall and stared right through the man that stood between him and his giggling lover. With an arrogant smirk he took a drag from his dying cigarette and fired a round of smoke rings into the bouncer's face. The man remained stoic all the while Yamato flirtingly circled him and retrieved Taichi from his hold. Together they climbed over the rope barriers that outlined the small smoking area and walked off into the night chortling._

* * *

_Who's got two thumbs an got mugged of everything they had?...this guuuuyyy! Serves me right for getting a bit cocky, really, carrying all my valuables with me. No more phone, ipod, laptop, ID, and a really nice leather bag. Some dick hole just jumped out of a car and aimed a screwdriver at my stomach. As much as I think back and regret not kicking him in the balls and making a run for it, being a wuss was probably a smarter move. Thank God I had my back up drive. The only problem is that I hadn't updated it in a while, which explains why everything is late. I had to rewrite most of this along with a couple of other fics I've been working on. I was also planning on entering a literary competition but my hard work has been lost and I don't think I could write something as good a second time. I hope that dick enjoys reading all of my horror and smut fiction! There's gay porn and gore galore on that thing LOL!_

_Anyway, I'm not looking for any pity or whatever. I've got a new laptop now and reported everything, so I'm not doomed. I just wanted to explain why this chapter is late and most likely not up to scratch. Writing something from memory isn't fun (Especially when it was close to greatness the first time round) and I've just been feeling too angry at the world to care. Seriously, my neighbourhood used to be so nice. Now I can't have a five minute walk from the station to my house without my life being threatened. I have enough angst in me right now to fuel a couple more chapters at least._

_Bah blah blah, in conclusion, I hope you're all having/had a good summer. Thank you for your patience. I hope your lives aren't as shit as mine right now and that you enjoy this steaming pile of whatever the hell I've just thrown at you :)_

_It'll all get better soon._

**_Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper_**

_x_


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